NOT DEAD YET
by 2degreesabovefreezing
Summary: Would you ever get tired of being that last human on Earth? Lovino Vargas does. Every day is a battle for survival that only continues because he doesn't have the courage to pull the trigger against himself. While out getting supplies, his life is saved by a corpse that seems to still have some life left in it. Is there any hope for bringing back the dead? SpainxRomano, AU.
1. Feild guide to the apocalypse

NOT DEAD YET

**Field guide to the apocalypse  
Entry: 01**

Everyday, when I wake up, the first thing I do is rummage around in the bedside drawer for a bobby pin and use it to keep my bangs back from my eyes. It's not very _manly_, I know that but I don't really have the option to use hair gel. It seems that the undead find it remarkably appetizing.

I think that, if I had a badass intro for my badass TV show, it would be playing right now. Unfortunately, I don't have a badass TV show but I totally think I should. Anyways, after my lovely hairdo, I retrieve that handgun from under my pillow (you can't do anything in this world without a gun in your hand). Is it a good idea to store a fully loaded gun beneath your unconscious head? No. To be honest, I'll never have the courage to pull the trigger against myself but I figure, if it happens to go off in the middle of the night, it's all for the best.

I don't look out the window anymore, I blocked it up with newspaper and planks of cardboard. It may not be the best survival technique but I didn't want to see the undead fragments of what used to be people I once knew. I'd rather just kill 'em and get it over with.

As you can well assume, it's been a while since humans dominated the Earth. How it started? There's a lot of rumors but the only one you need to believe is that this is the effect of the greatest war for oil to ever take place. To tell you it short is like to summarize the bible but I'll do my best anyways. So, pretty much, some of the big nations started dueling it out because one was accused of laying pipelines in the territory of another. Sure enough, some pipelines were dug up, some papers were filed, angry letters were sent and not long after, the first gun shot was fired. Even to this day, I don't know the whole pipage situation. Something was circulating about the accused nation being framed or the pipes not existing at all but if you believe everything you're told, you'll be really stupid.

So next came war followed by the invention of "_total gas_", a gas that could kill thousands quiet and painlessly. After that, everyone used total gas because it was seen as the _humane_ way to kill off entire towns. The irony, I know. It did its job well at first, killing everything in its path, and then came the masters of evolution themselves…_the ants_. Those crazy bastards just fixed themselves right up and started having babies that could breathe total gas like it were oxygen. These new mega ants drank the blood from the dead soldiers, spreading their resistance gene right into the blood stream of the corpse. That was the first time since Jesus that men awoke from the very depths of hell and today, they walk amongst us.

I say _us_ but as far as I know, it's only me. I joined the F.A.I (Forces Against the Immune) as soon as I could. I was put on a base with a few other guys, partnered with some blonde, American idiot. I was with him when he was attacked, that "Immune" bit right down on his ankle. That poor son-of-a-bitch went out of it, he didn't even have the mind to ask me to kill him. I let him live for a little while, making sure he really _was _gone before I gave him a good ol' straight-in-the-forehead funeral.

Nobody on the base liked me before and they _REALLY_ didn't like me when I killed everyone's favorite pal. I was kicked out. They dropped me on my ass, not caring if I got munched on by an immune. That'd just give them a good reason to shoot me.

I ran off, trying to find a good place to die when I stumbled upon _this_ little shack and thought, hey, this might be a good place to live. Of course, that was before I knew living was a-helluva-lot worse.

What are the zombies like? That's a good question. Well, I've never seen one bathe or give any interest to hygiene so yes, _they rot_. What's worse is that they rot mostly at their open air orifices, which are located on the face. Eye lids are gone on most of them but they don't seem to be hindered hunters. What's true about all of them is that their eyes are noticeable from miles away. Their eyes are filled with a muted, ashy, dead shade of whatever color they once were. In the mouths of the immune, many housed parasites, bleeding scabby gums and chipped yellow teeth, designed to eat whatever they pleased. I've heard rumors of zombies raping women and kidnapping children but that's all a load of hullabaloo. Those things have never cared for humans as anything but food.

I don't know what happens when the immunes start their feast. Honestly, I've never stuck around long enough to find out. When it comes down to it, it's tough love, meaning that if you love anything other than your own survival, things are going to get real tough real soon. If you live this long and for some reason have a desire to stay alive, isolate yourself. That's the best you can do.

It's fantastic. Best decision I ever made. I've named this land "Lovino Land" and I am head of the Lovinic Church. We believe that God created the pizza roll and then a race known as the humans that would eventually destroy themselves. I'm the only friend I'll ever need. I don't want to talk to anyone else because my opinions are the best ones. I don't miss anyone, I don't even mind that I may very well be the last of my whole race.

I'm not lonely, I'm not afraid, _I'm not lying_.

I try to leave the shack as little as possible. Today though, I was in dire need of clean water and in _less_ dire need of shampoo. I ripped a piece of magazine off the stack and used a Crayola marker to jot down those two things. The note went right into the side of my boot so that I could read it if I forgot what I was doing. I was set on keeping my wits about me if I were going to remain alive so I continued my routine of changing the calendar and picking things up in my house in alphabetical order. I dressed myself and left but not before slinging some extra ammo on my waist.

As I walked, I noticed how crusty my socks had gotten. I really outta' wash them. I also needed to find some new boots but there wasn't a clothing store for another ten miles. I _rarely _took trips that far. It was an annual thing for me, a special weeklong trip that tested every aspect of my survival skills. I have a special route that goes deep into the woods that can only be traveled during day light. Lush forestry makes for sneaky escapes. Immunes may be quick but they ain't smart. They like to run in straight lines, they get all confused when you're weaving through trees and hopping over logs. Another helpful hint? Bring things to break. I never leave without a handful of ceramic figurines. All you have to do is chuck em' across the stream and you're home free, they chase the noise and they never know what happened.

Life saver #1: Open land is a dead man's land.

So I started out. The store wasn't more than a mile and a half away. It was actually a few stores, a small outdoor shopping complex. They were some of the few places that weren't hit real hard when the raiding craze exploded. That's probably because they're in the middle of nowhere, even _I_ have no idea where I am. I assume I'm still in America but other than that, I've got nothing. I heard that the rebels in India were doing some major damage on the zombies but that's all I heard about them so I assume that nothing else became of them.

The trip had been easy so far. I walked heel to toe, breathed softly and kept my legs apart. I was close to silent. I checked around in every direction and made sure that one hand was always waiting beside my gun holster.

I got to the store and successfully scoped the first shop. If you know how to do anything, let it be scoping properly. Also, avoid assumptions. They're bad. They're evil and dirty and wrong, avoid them like a hungry zombie.

Once inside, I barricaded the entrance with a few fully loaded cardboard boxes. I took a bottle of shampoo and two jugs of purified water. With skillful rationing, the water would last a week and the shampoo would go a month or even longer. Rationing was my biggest problem. The supplies wouldn't last forever. I'd only been on my own for two years which makes me a _survival legend_. In that time, I have almost stripped the store of its valuable resources. I've been thinking about investing in a car and I've found a nice one abandoned in a parking lot not far from the shack but it needs gas and I have yet to find a gas station.

Life saver #2: Don't over estimate security.

As I was thinking all this to myself, a tired moan rung out from the door. "Hhe-e-looo?" The voice called in its hell-stricken cruelty. Immunes remember things… I'm not sure what _kind_ of things but they seem to remember little bits of language. It's terrifying.

It was a pack of them. Most times they're loners but when they go in for a hunt, they team up. The biggest of them looked like he once had long hair but his head was now plagued with bald spots. His left ear was torn from his head and the gangrene was mauling that entire side of his face. His eyes remained but just barely. Dirt and mud clogged up into the crevices of his eyes which made me question if sight was indeed possible. Evidently, it was. The box that I was using to hold out intruders was flung across the room, annihilating my right shoulder and causing my gun to skit to the floor.

I did not hesitate to shoot that crazy bastard. The gun was in my left hand and aimed in a fraction of a second. BAM! One explosion of gunpowder and a tremendous ache in my arm. BAM!BAM! Those ones missed due to the lack of control in my right arm and the inaccuracy in my left. On the upside, one bullet slung into the stomach of a zombie standing behind my target and the second drove through the arm of another. I kept firing in panic and each time my arm shot violent reminders to my brain, telling me not to do it again but I did.

Life saver #3: When in doubt, shoot! Shoot! Shoot! As long as you're not shooting yourself , you're doing it right.

With my injured limb, I scrambled around, grabbing what I could and chucking it at the offender. If only magazines had the magical capability to burn through zombie skin. Flesh torn bodies stumbled forward on their fishy white legs, undeterred by the bullets lodged in their feet and abdomens. These guys were absolute bulldozers, run by hunger. Filthy monsters. I was now holding an unloaded gun in my left hand and reaching across my body with the other in attempt to free my cartridge of ammo. The bull neared, closing in on me. At this point, I ran out of life savers. There was no forest behind me, there was no security to be overestimated and my right hand couldn't do more than fiddle fingers over the latch that held my last case of lead soldiers. Maybe it _was_ the end. I figured, if I'm out of ways to save myself then I'm dead. It doesn't take a genius to figure that out. I didn't want to become a mindless, person-eating, savage but…what's a guy to do?

I closed my eyes. I didn't want my last sight to be Smelly Breath Mc. Fart-Face here. I wasn't nearly as upset as any sane person would be but maybe because I had been expecting it and even wanting it. Silently, I prayed that they'd just snap my neck and bury me deep, deep, deep in the woods but no zombie could ever care that much about a human. In the best scenario, they would eat _all_ of me or at least enough to ensure that I would only come back as zombie shit. I took deep breaths, relaxing as I anticipated my end.

There was loud clinking and banging. I didn't open my eyes. The zombies cried out in what seemed to be pain or agony. I didn't open my eyes. The sound of bodies thumping against the floor emanated around the room. I didn't open my eyes. Finally, all the sound was gone and I had the hunch I was still alive. Wait, that wasn't right? I gave it a few seconds but nothing attacked me. I gave it a few more seconds and there was no harm done. So finally… _I opened my eyes._

I was on the floor, I must have fallen down at some point and not noticed. Around me were four bodies. The fat giant had fallen in the center of the room. A woman corpse was down at the entrance and another was slumped against the far wall. Those were all dead for the last time and becoming ash as I watched them. Laying directly in front of me though was a crumpled form that wasn't gone.

It was a boy…a boy my age. He wore a pasty green uniform from the Old War and padded his head with thick coffee-colored curls. More important than all of this? He was an immune. Blank stare, unwashed skin, ripped and torn clothes… they all look the same. I dropped my gun and undid the ammo, shoving a cartridge into my firearm quickly and pointing it straight at his forehead. When I shut one eye and focused the other on the target… I noticed that this one _didn't _ look the same as the others.

Those eyes weren't blank like I had originally though, they were focused on me and they weren't the same shade of deluded cataracts as the others. They were green! They were bright, radiant, amazing green… was he…alive? I studied him over again. Definitely zombie but…_those eyes_!

"Hi…" He mumbled in his long-time-dead voice and looked up at me, a faint smile playing on his lips.

NO FLIPP'N WAY.

Zombies _don't_ have human eyes. They _don't _smile, they _don't _see a human without attacking and they _DON'T_ say "hi". Never have I ever, ever, _ever_ seen an immune behave this way. If I were in my right mind, I'd give it a good ol' hole in the forehead but when I looked into hi- _its_ eyes I felt a bit of a twinge in my gut. It was human… not really but just slightly. I have no idea how that's possible but it is. If there were the slightest chance that it were still in some way alive, could I really kill it? It's the only other slightly human thing that I knew to exist… could I _really_ kill it?

I found myself studying it so curiously that it repeated its call of "Hi?" to make sure I still had some good sense in my brain. I looked around the room again. Three dead zombies, one exhausted one. Did it…_fight_ the others? _Was that possible?_ I'd never seen an immune attack another of its kind, they were smart enough to know the difference. Maybe this one was just _really _stupid. Maybe it thought that I was a-

"Huu-mn?" It asked. Nope, it knew. Then why!? What the hell was going on? Was it a zombie? A human? Both? What? "Hiiiiiii huuuuuumn~" Its smile grew. It's arm reached out weakly to touch me but I quickly smacked it away. Then fear set in. I jumped up to my feet and make a B-line for a metal magazine display rack. I don't know why it's called a B-line, it was more like an I-line but I couldn't bother myself about that. What I was currently focused on discovering was whether or not I was alive. The pain in my arm and air in my lungs would suggest that I was but the human-zombie hybrid would beg to differ.

I watched it closely as it remained slumped on the floor. It hadn't moved but its wondering eyes followed me. _Lovino, it's a zombie,_ I told myself,_ zombies are animals, __not__ humans. They don't see people as anything other than food. They kill, they ravage and they don't ever come back to life._ Still, this one wasn't doing anything except laying on its side like an old dog and watching me. When it got tired of looking at me, it sighed and closed its eyes. I grabbed the magazine at my hip and tossed it at the immune who squinted distastefully when it hit his shoulder. "Ooowww huuumn." He complained, retreating into a more protected position as if it were trying to go to sleep.

I spoke. "You!" I called from behind the protection of the magazine rack. He didn't answer. "Hey! You!" His shoulders shifted to show me that he was ignoring me. "What are you?" I asked, astonished that it could comprehend me. It didn't respond. Was it asleep? I waited a few minutes and the thing didn't move. Maybe it was dead.

I moved out from the behind my protective barrier and slowly approached the immune. It didn't wake. Big, heavy breaths inflated its chest every once in a while. When it coughed, I practically had a heart attack. Gun tight in hand, I finally made my way up to him. This totally violated life saver #2: Don't overestimate security. I had no reason to believe that he wouldn't suddenly jump up and rip my face off and yet, I continued to inch closer until I was face-to-face with the beast.

It didn't _look_ like a beast. Its unconscious face was rather human. He didn't show too much decay other than chapping lips and inch-long scars. I decided that he must be newly dead. Maybe they got him right before they went for me which would explain the human like behavior but not the eyes. When Alfred, my partner, was bitten, the first thing to happen was the clouding over of his eyes. The uniform gave me the idea that he had been dead for quite some time but in that case, that would mean that he bathed which zombies don't do.

If he can talk, he can answer questions. I set to work on binding his wrists and ankles then I duct-taped over his mouth and finger nails. This way, if he went wild, he wouldn't be able to harm me. I don't suggest taking hostages. The last thing you want is to drag a corpse around with you but in this case, I _needed_ answers. Since I wouldn't have the hands I needed to carry my supplies, I tied them to his ankles and began to drag him away by his arms. The bum just let me do it too, he didn't open an eye.

When he woke up, he found us in the middle of the woods. I was watching him maliciously from my bed under a heap of fallen leaves and he was tied snuggly against a tree, duct-tape concealing any cries for help that could lead others to find me. Naturally, he was set in a state of panic. It wasn't like he was trying to attack me, he was afraid that _I_ would attack _him_. For a split second, I got a wince of guilt but it died quickly. _He _was the monster. I didn't owe him _anything_ except a quick death out of generosity.

"You." I interrupted sternly. His scared eyes looked at me. the wince came back but this time for longer because of those god damn eyes. They were so human… I hadn't seen human eyes in years. I waited till he quit whimpering like a dog to remove the tape. My hands trembled terribly. I feared that he might yell or bite me but neither occurred. He was afraid.

"You can talk, can't you?" I asked, softening my voice just the tiniest bit. I should have just shot him, I shouldn't be negotiating with the enemy but here I was acting like he wasn't the kind of animal that I had watched rip the flesh of old friends.

He nodded solemnly. "Owww…huumn." He whined, trying to move his arms.

"Stop, don't move." I warned, pointing my revolver square at his nose. Cold sweat beaded on my neck and my lungs grew heavy. This thing was dangerous. His eyes widened then his head slumped dead and he refused to look at me as if he were just waiting to die now. That's when the guilt hit me with its full force. Human or not, this thing saved my life when I was at my lowest and I repaid him by throwing things at him, tying him up and pointing a gun at his face. I tried telling myself that it was just an animal, driven by hunger. For the first time, that didn't change my mind. It still felt wrong.

I sighed and lowered the gun (I didn't drop it, I'm not an idiot). "Look up." I ordered. He refused to listen to me. "Common, look up. I won't shoot you." I told him. His bright, green eyes flickered up for a moment before dropping back down. He was upset with me. Stupid bastard. What'd he want? An apology? No way. I will _never_ apologize to an immune. If anything, they should line up to apologize to me.

The zombie again wriggled against his constraints and the whining commenced. "Knock it off!" I scolded, trying to hush him. The last thing I need is an angry pack of zombies. "Cut it out! You're going to get me killed!" That shut him up. He looked around curiously, making sure no one was around. I did the same. When the coast was proven clear I asked, "You can speak, can't you? English?" He ignored me, telling me again that he didn't like be tied up with a prolonged "Owww".

"Oh, hush! You're fine. Just quit fighting it and I'll let you out later." Making promises like that is not a good idea. I planned to send him off with a bullet in his brain as an act of mercy on the poor creature.

"No oww?" He asked, looking dead straight into my eyes as to know if I were lying. I agreed with a sigh. The stupid idiot smiled his big, goofy smile at me. I'd never seen such a happy corpse.

"You speak?" I asked again. He obviously understood me when I spoke. He nodded. "What _are_ you?" Was my first question. He looked around, much more interested in everything else. I repeated my question more sternly. "What _are_ you?"

"Nm?" He asked carelessly.

"What?"

"_Nem?_"

"Nem?"

"Humn nm."

Then it hit me. "Name!"

He gestured his head toward me. "_Humn nm?"_

"That's classified." I growled, crossing my arms and sitting tall like a tough guy.

"Tn, nn, ae, sv, sis, fv, fr,ree, oo, un." He guessed. Why did he think my name would be a count down from ten? Is _anyone's_ name Ten, nine eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one? I seriously doubt it.

"No." I said, not amused.

"Humn?" He tried again.

"No." I hated to think that someday, I'd be one of these. Stupid, clumsy, mindless. "Just call me…" I searched around for a moment. "Woods. Can you remember that?" I had a feeling he wasn't going to give up this whole game until I gave him some sort of calling card.

"Wh…w-w….uuuhds." He said, his eyes kindly studying me over. "Humn… Whuuds…" When he felt confident in his memory, he looked to me and tilted his head with an honest smile. He wasn't ugly. I know that that's a weird thing to notice but whenever I see immunes, they've become a whole other human. Their skin becomes a frosty grey. Blood, dirt and disease are the only things that dress their skin. This immune was different. His skin was pale but still held some pigment as well as the faint veins climbing up his neck. His eyes were kind but also so excited, like he didn't know that he was dead. He was so in tune with his emotions that he actually looked _happy_. "Humn Whuuds nnnnd….oneee." He introduced himself.

"Onee?" I asked, trying to figure out what kind of name Onee could be. I couldn't come up with anything off the top of my head so I settled for, "One. I'll call you one."He seemed disappointed but he nodded. "One, are you alive?"

"Alv?...No…nd yssss." He said, considering the question.

"You're one or another. Are you a zombie or a human?"

"Onee…" He insisted.

"Yes. What _is_ One?"

"Onee…meee." He ignored the question and instead gave his attention to my wrapped shoulder. "Whuuds oww?"

"Me?" I looked where he was looking. "Oh, no. I'm fine."

"Whuuds alv?"

"Yeah, I'll survive. Now look, you've gotta answer my questions. Do you know where humans are? Are there more?" He shook his head but he didn't seem so sure. His eyes told me that he was hiding something." This is _important."_ I stressed. "Have you seen any people like me who weren't dead? More alive?" He thought about it and shook his head again. That son of a bitch was hiding something. "Don't lie to me, One." I growled.

He shook his head innocently. "No! No, Onee fur-ghetts." He stuttered out. _That_ was the truth, I could tell.

"Well…" My eyes fell into my lap. "I guess there wasn't any hope anyways, was there? Ya' get me, One?" I smiled as faintly as I could at him, of course he didn't.

"Ysss." He answered. For a split second, I felt like I was having a conversation with another human. Then the feeling died and my heart sank back to its cold stage of Limbo.

"How long have you been dead?" I found a twig and began digging little canals in the dirt.

"Fur-ghetts." He said simply.

"You like being a zombie?" He didn't answer. "Hey, whatever, it doesn't matter I guess. We'll all be immune someday."

"Wnt…alv."

"What?"

"Wh…www-ahnt…aliiif. Wahnt alife."

"Want alive?" The combination of his sad face and tortured eyes made me finally give in. I flicked open the knife in my pocket and for a moment, One became afraid but settled down when he saw that I was cutting the rope away. "Don't you dare try to eat me." I threatened but the boy only smiled.

"Whuuds oh-ke." He promised.

I managed to free him but then went right back into retreat, the gun held tight in my hands. "Whuuds oh-ke." He insisted. "Whuuds alv."

"Yeah? Well I guess I'll learn my lesson when I wake up without my intestines. You bastard, this is all your fault with your god damn sappy eyes." I fell back into the pile of leaves and tossed some more on myself to make sure I was sufficiently hidden. "Don't think I can't watch you from here.

"Whuuds oh-ke. Onee awke, Onee watch." His raspy voice murmered. He looked round to show me how visual he could be.

"You're not going to get hungry are you? Y'know, like a midnight craving?" I asked skeptically.

He smiled and shook his head. "_Whuuds oh-ke_." He repeated. Sure I am… sure I am. So, feeling brave, I let my eyelids shut and soon traveled into the realm of sleep. I didn't know if I was ever going to wake up or if I was going to wake up as a flesh-eating killer but I was starting to feel like One was actually something else. It would be now that I would figure out if I could trust him or not.

(Thank you for reading! This will be continued but not until after Christmas. I'll still be writing but I won't be publishing so you'll have to wait but you'll be rewarded by a burst of story. Also, if you happen to notice spelling and/or grammar mistakes, please let me know.)


	2. Blessed are the meek

NOT DEAD YET

**Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the Earth  
Entry: 02**

When I woke up, that crazy bastard was sitting right where he had been last night and smiling his big, dopey, smile but this time, something was different. Scarlet blood had left dry trails down his shirt, starting from his mouth. I instantly checked to make sure I still had all my limbs and sure enough, I did.

"One?" I asked hesitantly.

"Hm?"

I used my hand to gesture to the carnivorous mess that had over-taken his face. It took him a minute but he got the hint and his smile became bigger. "Onee make Whuuds oh-ke."

He made me okay? What? His face didn't offer any answers other than pride in whatever work he had done. When I asked him what happened, he said "Make Whuuds alv."

"Was I _not _alive?" When I sat up, I got a real kick from that bum shoulder of mine. Pain makes you miss the adrenaline that helped you forget it.

"Da…Tha…" He looked around; trying to come up with the word he was looking for, "Tha…zoomee…"

"_Zombie?_"

"Ysss! Zoomee!"

"What zombie?"

"Zoomee heer." He pointed over to a cluster of trees to his right.

"Wait. There was a zombie _here!_? Other than _you_!?"

"Yss! But Onee make Whuuds alv!" He proclaimed with pride.

"You…" I examined our surroundings, wrapping my brain around this. "You fought off a _zombie_!?"

"Ysss! Onee watch sooo goohd!"

"Wait…look me in the eye." I ordered sternly. He obeyed, happy as all hell. "So a zombie came here and you _killed _it?"

"Klld it sooo goohd!" It was horrific how he could sit there, painted with blood, and act like everything was glitter and sprinkles. It was as if killing was the same as making cupcakes to him. I was astounded…blown away… this thing…it _cared_. It _wasn't_ a zombie. Either he was the human I had been praying for the existence of or he was the smartest zombie that I've ever met. Either way, this meant that there were others on this planet who weren't mindless.

"What. _Are_. You?" Was all I could think to ask him. "You protected me… you kept me safe at your own expense… why? What makes you different?" He cocked his head, not seeming to understand. I spent a while just studying the features of his face and suddenly, they seemed more human than before. "What did you say your name was again?"

"Onee~"

"Onee? Is that short for something?" My interest in the immune suddenly increased ten levels.

"Uhh…fur-ghetts."

"Huh…okay. Well-" I stood up with a heavy heave. "Let me know when you remember." I picked up the bottle of shampoo and stuffed my revolver into its holster. One struggled but managed drowsily to his feet. His posture was just awful.

"Get?" One asked, grabbing the handles of each jug of water. He was just asking if he should get the jugs for me but I knew there was more than that. If I let him get the jugs, I'd have to let him carry them home for me and then I'd have to offer to let him stay a night or two. I couldn't commit to that… _BUT_ I _could_ have him carry them at least until we got close. I couldn't take them all because of my bum arm and it sure beats burying them and coming back later. I rolled around the idea for a while before finally agreeing. Can't blame a zombie fighter for getting lazy every once in a while.

He picked them up, his whole body slumping further as he did so. "Are you sure you can do it?" I asked, seeing how the jugs were practically dragging.

"Caaann~" He boasted, straightening his back as much as he could.

"Alright then, I guess you can." And with that, we started off. I kept having to turn around and yell at him for dragging his feet and breathing heavily. It's not like he could help either, especially with the chore at hand but he would huff at me and do a little better. I called the first break, not because I needed it but because _he_ did. I thought his arms were just going to fall right off (believe me, I've seen it). "Sit down." I told him and he obeyed. He gave me a short, thankful look.

"Idiot, you could have just said that you wanted to stop." I told him as I dropped my bum on a log. He shrugged carelessly. I shrugged back, took an energy bar out of my pocket and unwrapped it. I ate the whole thing before noticing how longingly One was watching me. I tossed him my second bar (his instincts weren't good enough to catch it but he picked it up from the forest floor after it bounced off his face). "Can you eat that?" I asked, my mouth full of thick oats, and got my answer in the form of another shrug.

I took it back from him and opened it. Why was I sharing my sacred food with this immune? Well… I dunno…I guess I could just say it's a bit of repayment for saving my life. When I handed it back to him, he just watched it blankly. "What _can_ you eat?"

He opened his mouth but then looked me up and down before remembering that he had nothing to say. "Idiot, I know you eat people. _Other_ than humans, what do you eat?" He thought about that question for a little while. When it came time to answer, he put his hand over where his beating heart would be. He clenched and unclenched his fist, chanting "P-pum-p-pum" As he went. I guess that means things with a heart. I nodded. It's so hard being friends with a cannibal. "Just eat the bar." I told him, making the offering more forcefull.

He ate it. One hand held the food and the other tore off pieces and then fed them into his mouth. I busied myself my sawing off a small arm of a near-by tree and skinning it. Believe it or not, you can eat a tree. I _do not_ suggest it but if you chew slowly enough, you can eat a tree. It's bitter but it's not so awful when you get used to it.

The silence was kind. All around us, the forest lived vicariously though the small strums of wind blowing past the trees like violins. Images of subtle green surrounded us as if the world were one big, calm, oil painting. The symphony of nothingness was enough to bring any babe into slumber, so much so that it all felt like a trap. One would find themselves lustfully searching for this sanctuary of green until their mind had lost its good sense or until the filthy corpses of a generation past would drag them back into the Earth.

We got walking again in about fifteen minutes and didn't stop until One found a flung aside stop sign and insisted that we stop. "If it's like this-" I pointed a finger towards the sky, "It's a stop sign but if it's like this-" I turned my finger ninety degrees, "Then it's just trash. Forget about it." He didn't understand. "This is an apocalypse. Do you know what that means?" He shook his head. "That means that we don't have to listen to anybody, all the rules go away."

"Goo aw-ee?"

"Yup. We're free men, you and me. No one can make us do nothing!"

"Wha?" He paused in his tracks as did his very obvious trail of parted leaves, caused by him incessantly dragging his feet.

"Name something you don't like."

"_Rats_." He spat instinctively. _That _was a word he could pronounce perfectly.

"Well, no one can tell you _nothing_ about rats! If you want to rip off their heads one by one, there's no PITA to stop you!" This made him so excited that he didn't know what to do with himself so he kicked a rock and dropped down on his bum in one swift _thump_.

"Jeez Christ!" I set down the bottle of shampoo and retrieved my fallen comrade. When I helped him up, I noticed something especially upsetting. "Aw, gross! You've got cooties!"

"Huh?"

I fingered through his thick, oily hair, examining the little wriggly specimens. I pulled one out to show him. "I've got bug soap in my house-"I sucked the air back into my lungs as soon as I heard my own words. Dammit, I had just invited him home. Dammit!

"Rats!" One cried, watching the insect squirm between my index finger and thumb.

"No, it's not a rat-"I tried to explain but he wouldn't have any of it. He grabbed fistfuls of hairs and tried ripping them free of his skull. "Hey! Hey, Stop that! Knock it off, let go!" I fought him and finally captured his hands, pulling them away from his head. "Shut it, shut up." I growled and cupped a hand over his wailing mouth. "Stop it!"

Beneath my hand, I could still hear the muffled cry of "Rats! Raaats!" I shushed him and pressed down harder on his mouth while praying to God that he wouldn't bite me. "It's. not. a . rat!" I told him but he persisted. "One! Please! Please! _Shut up_!" There was rustling somewhere in the far distance. It wasn't the rustling of butterflies or rodents. No, it created the kind of noise you could only expect from a bear or a pack of zombies. I prayed it was a bear. My eyes widened and blood suddenly coursed ten times faster through my veins. My instinct said, "Forget the corpse and run!" But this really annoying tug in my ribs said, "It's a human! _The only other human_!"

Dammit…Dammit! I ripped my gun out of the holster and gripped it tight, ready to fire. The combination of my pounding heart and heavy breathing set a rhythmic tune to the moment. Damn One…_Damn him_! He continued to have his little fit behind me while I prepared to save our sorry asses. Every second the noise got closer and I kept willing myself not to turn and run as fast as I could. Now, it was just a waiting game. The shrubbery rustles with the telltale innuendo of mammoth-sized predators on the hunt. So close… I took a deep breath and looked straight at the noise. Time to fight the beast.

There was two of those fuckers, walking all limp-like and starting at me with their muted, marbly orbs. Two men, or at least, I assumed they were. These ones were forest-dwellers so they had acquired all sorts of diseases, infections and disorders. They had been feasted on by rats, they been mauled and ripped and shredded by the cruel wilderness but yet they couldn't just die. No, they carried on their grotesque existence of unending hunger.

I made fierce eye contact with each of them before they charged, revealing their true agility. The wailing behind me abruptly stopped as soon as they lunged for my head. The closest was tackled down by One as soon as it could get within an arms distance of me. He grappled onto it and tossed it to the ground, immediately beating the light out of it with full ferocity. I was taken aback but I got over it in time to click back the trigger on my revolver, sending a hard bullet spiraling through the second corpse.

Of course, one bullet isn't enough to kill a savage brute like this one. If anything, it's like trying to put out a fire with gasoline. It became enraged. I launched two more good shots at him, one skimming his side and the other taking home in his gut. There is _one_ thing about zombies, they have wicked tough stomach acids. This doesn't seem like a good thing but if you get 'em good right in their bellies, the acids will eat them from the inside out which does more than landing a cap or two in their hearts.

This was strategic on my part but not over all necessary since One tackled it down like an all-star quarterback. It didn't put up much of a fight after that but I think that was because One had ripped a gaping hole in its chest and dug out its innards with his bare hands. He took handfuls and tore, breaking them free of their confines. Look, I hate zombies a-helluva-lot but what he was doing… that's psychopathic…

I turned away as soon as I caught of glimpse of his bloody, vengeful face. I didn't want to see that. That was the face of a monster, something I was trying to convince myself that One wasn't. The slushing, gurgling, sounds of devouring put me on the brim of losing my stomach. I heard the gushing of blood, the sick ripping of flesh and worst of all, One's grunts as he consumed the corpse. Time pasted between us but I didn't dare interrupt.

"Whuuds?" He asked curiously after swallowing a mouthful of raw meat. When I didn't respond, he tried again. "Whuuds oww?Whuuds?"

"No…" I answered, afraid of my own voice. "Go…Go wash yourself." I ordered and refrained from bringing my eyes to his. "Go to the stream."

"Whuuds com?" He wondered.

"No. Just go." I insisted. I heard the sound of his feet dragging as he left me and I released the breath I had been holding in my lungs. God, I was so stupid. _He's_ not human and _I'm_ just delusional. I'm such an idiot… I almost brought _that thing_ home. I almost trusted it and took it into my house and cared for it as an equal. How could I have not seen? He looked like a human but he was just as dead as the rest. That look on his face was purely animalistic. His attack was the way his brain had been rewired into behaving like a savage, mindless, _zombie_. He was cold and dead, just like everyone else on this god-forsaken planet. _God Lovino_… What happened to you? You must be truly desperate. _This_ is the toll of being the last human.

I put my gun in its holster and took a gallon of water. I didn't want to be around when he came back. It would be easiest just to never see him again, never be reminded. I walked as stealthily as I knew how. I wanted to forget as soon as possible about my glorious misunderstanding.

It was just wishful thinking. There are zombies and there are humans, nothing in between. What's the difference? Everything but the form and the desire to eat. Humans live to learn things, to fall in love or have families, to make the world a better place. Immunes live to eat. Period. End of story. They don't care about others, humans are food to them, they don't have a conscience or feeling. No matter how much I had denied it, One was an immune. _THIS_ is why I keep my window blocked and my eyes forward, so I don't get so fucked up believing that zombies resemble humans in any way.

Yet… that tightness in my chest increased. I still wanted to cling on, I still wanted to believe in life.

"WHOODS!?" A familiar voice called. I ignored it, walking faster. He was too stupid to find me. He'd end up getting lost in the trees and he'd forget about me just like he forgot about everything else. "Whooo-oods?" The sing-song voice rang again. Those deep, emerald green orbs flashed through my mind. They wouldn't stop looking at me. They _knew_ the secret of his existence. They _saw _an answer to my missing species but they were bound to secrecy. His eyes… they haunted me.

I don't know how he did it but he caught up, dragging the water and shampoo with him. "Whoods?" He asked, confused. He had indeed cleaned his face but it seemed more like dunked his head in the river then slapped handfuls of water onto his shirt. That animalistic venom had drained from his face and he was back to being innocently idiotic.

"Go away." I ordered.

"Wha?"

"You heard me. Turn around and walk."

He contemplated this order for a painfully long time before shrugging and asking "Wha?" again.

"Get!" I scolded. His look of confusion shifted to surprise then sadness. "Go away, One!" He didn't understand at all, not that I could blame him.

"Go aw-ee?" He clarified. "Onee go?"

"Yeah, you. Get away from me, zombie."

"Zoomie!? _No zoomie_! No go aw-ee." He insisted.

"_Yes_, go away. I don't owe you anything anymore, life debt over. Go away."

"No! No go aw-ee! Onee make Whoods oh-ke! Onee make goohd watch!"

"I'm not a damsel in distress. I'm a _human_. _You_ are a monster. You destroy and ruin and kill."

"No, Onee kill _zoomie_, no kill humn."

I gave up, he wasn't going to understand. "Sit down."

He followed my instructions dutifully. It was more like a collapse than a sit but he was down none the less. "Now listen," I told him and waited till his bright green eyes met mine. "I want you to stay _right here_. Got that?" He nodded. "Repeat."

"Whoods no go." He said.

"No. Say what I say: _I will stay right here_."

"Whoods NO go."

"Say it."

"I… steey…rit her."

"Good." With that, I turned and took my leave, not even bothering with the other jug of water or the shampoo. After a few meters, I dared to glance back just with the corner of my eye. No one was there. No one was anywhere. At that point I made a complete turn and scanned around the whole area. Tree, tree, tree, tree, tree with arms. That stupid bastard. "_Don't_ follow me." I scolded in my harshest tone. He didn't move, not even a twitch. I began to walk again.

This time I walked for a good while, twisting between trees and going through the hidden groves. I turned around once I felt like I had lost him and rescoped the area. Trees (none with arms), clearing, bush, bush, idiot sitting in a bush. "I see you." I noted. His eyes followed me but he didn't budge. "Get out of that bush." I called. So, it's going to be the hard way then. _I gave him a chance_… _I tried_.

He stood up and retreated to my side. I ordered him to follow me, my voice little and regretful. I shouldn't feel bad, this was _his own_ damn fault. If he had just stayed put, it wouldn't have come down to this. He followed me into a little green cove where I sat down on a fallen trunk and he did so as well. I asked him to look out towards the stream and when he asked why, I gave the excuse about wanting to tell him a story about the river. "Don't look away from the river now." I ordered and he nodded, his head turned away from me. "You see, there was a princess once." I slipped my revolver out of the holster and cocked it silently.

"Nem?" He asked, focused on the river.

"Hush. Don't talk. Her name was Princess…Bumblebee." I improvised. "And she had four sister who all liked to dance but she liked to sing." I made sure the neck of the gun was aimed right into the back of his skull. It would be quick, no pain. "And they decided to have a contest at the river once to see if…uh, if their dancing was better than Bumblebee's singing." I found a comfortable hold for my finger against the trigger. My hand was raised, the gun was loaded, it was all ready…but my hand was far too shaky. I switched hands but the other was just as bad. I couldn't focus. That's when I realized that my eyes were unfocused too. In fact, my arm shook and my ribs ached. Why couldn't I do it? Why? He was right there! It was perfect! He wouldn't feel a thing.

"Whoods?" He asked to fill the absence of my voice. The man's head shifted, his eyes looking to me then the gun that was being held to his face but wobbling back and forth nervously. His eyes traveled back up to mine, scared and disappointed. That's what finally got the weapon to slip from my hand. Those poor eyes…so betrayed…_so human_…

"GET OUT OF HERE!" I yelled and covered my face from his view. How on Earth could I get emotional for a god-damn-son-offa-bitch-corpse! That bastard! He fucked me up! He screwed with my brain. When I didn't sense his movement, I tried again so that he wouldn't see the shudder of my body. "GO AWAY! GET OUT OF HERE, YOU STUPID ZOMBIE! I FUCK'N HATE YOU! YOU HEARD ME, GO AWAY!"

"Whoods…oww?" He mumbled quietly. He was clueless, just and scared and confused as I was. My frame endured one more violent jerk before releasing those long prolonged water marbles. It had been so long since I was reduced to this level of patheticness. What shit! This god damn bastard did this to me, _this god damn bastard_. The apocalypse does some crazy shit to you, knots than can never be undone unless cut through with a bullet.

"Whoods oww so…Whoods want Onee oww insed..." He guessed. "Oh-ke." He decided. "Oh-ke, Whoods. Onee oww insed."

"You stupid idiot." I growled. "Just go away…"

"Onee no go. Onee make Whoods oh-ke."

"GO."

"No go~"

"One, GO!" I uncover my puffy, swollen eyes so I could shove him off the log.

"Whoods oww~" He noticed, reaching up to touch my face but I slapped his fingers away before they could make contact with my burning flesh.

Tell yourself he's a monster Lovino, say it! It's true! Even _you_ aren't stupid enough to ignore that. There are humans and there are zombies, get that straight. There _aren't_ compromises or contracts of trust. The day we all sit around a camp-fire singing Kumbaya will be the day we all meet for the last time in Hell. I _can't _like him, I _can't_ believe he's anything other than a corpse. It's suicide.

I used to be so smart. If I were the man I had been a month ago, I'd have put a bullet in his head the moment I knew he was near. Now I've become a crazy bastard just like all the ol' hippies who rallied, saying that zombies were just different. They'd picket outside the military bases and call us murderers and I'd always tell myself that those crazy bastards didn't know the sun from the moon but look where I am know. I'm one of them myself.

"Whoods…" A voice interrupted me, making me toss my eyes over to him and _almost_ feel a flinch of pitty.

"Go away." I repeated bitterly. I told myself that I hated him and tried to make myself believe it too.

"Onee sry…" He mumbled.

"Sorry? Do you even know _why_ you're sorry?"

He shook his head and I lowered mine into my palms, too frustrated to fight any longer. "Because you're a zombie, _that's_ why. Zombies killed everything, including my family and my friends and the friends I might have someday otherwise made. There was a whole group of people…_just people_… people like me and my brother who used to live here, on Earth. Then there was a war and then there was you. In just a blink of an eye, we became extinct. _That's_ why you should be sorry. Because everything I ever knew is gone. _That's why_." I spat with the all too familiar memories flashing in and out of my mind. Images of my look-alike sibling, the remembrance of armed soldiers waiting on the border of town. I remember a piercing light being shown into my eyes to ensure that no immunity had snaked into my veins. I remember watching my grandfather shoot an immune from the car window even though I was told not to look. They were just seconds of footage but all were precise and clear.

"Onee humn…" The corpse offered and sufficiently earned my attention.

"You're _not_ a human." I looked him up and down as if checking again would somehow make a point.

"Am Humn. On-lee zoomie n' foo'd."

"Only zombie in…_food_?"

"_Foo 'DT_!"

"Foot?"

"Ysss! On-lee zoomie n' fooht."

"That doesn't make sense. If I had any good sense left in my brain, I'd put you out of your misery." I huffed.

"No, Onee want alv."

"Yeah but that's only your stomach speaking. If _you_ had any good sense left in your brain, you'd realize how shitty this all is and find a nice, willing human to take care of it for you. Like this." I formed my hand into the shape of a gun and lazily demonstrated shooting myself in the head.

"No. Onee liv nd go hom." He told me proudly just as my mind snapped back to life.

"Wait, _go home_? You live and _go home__?_ Where's home? Are there other humans?"

"Ho-me?"

"Yeah, you just said that you wanted to live and go home. What home? Were there people like me there?"

"Pee-pul leek Whoods? Uh…" He looked up at the sky and searched it for answers. "Uhh….furghetts…" He decided.

"But you just said you were going home! _What home?!_"

"Furghetts."

"But…" I stared in awe at the up-facing palms of my hands. _He knew something_… he knew _something_ about the humans, I was positive. Maybe I actually had a channel into my kind for once after two years, _through him_. It was right in my hands! Just a little out of grip but not completely-

No. I snapped the thought away with a scowl. Don't trust him. He doesn't know what he's talking about, it could have just been a slip of the tongue. Who knows? The poor bastard's crazy!

"Do you think you'll ever remember?" Damn me and my curiosity. I'm telling you, I used to me smart. I had my good sense about me but I just can't stand tall when I get that quiver of hope.

"Uhm…mee-bee. Sumtems Onee un-furghetts."

"_Sometimes_, huh?" I mauled around the idea. Was it stupid and crazy? Yes. Was it delusional? Yes. Was I scheming to take home a proven monster in attempt to resurrect a hopeless (possibly non-existent) memory?...Maybe…

"So…How much do you remember."

"Bout wha?"

"Just about things."

"Uh…'member Whoods."

"_Other than_ me."

" 'Member…oh! 'Member foodt!"

"What about your foot?"

His awkward hands fumbled with his boot, trying to pull it off. When I got tired of watching this endeavor, I did it for him. I admit, I was slightly curious about his zombie foot. He really should air his feet more. They stunk of bacteria and were crumbly pail after being trapped in the boots as he sludged through rivers and mud. After momentarily mentioning how disgusting his feet were, I let him take one in his hands and show me the bottom, where he displayed a four-inch long scar. At first, I thought the scar was just another of the many wrinkles caused by excessive water exposure but then I noticed that it was the epicenter for all of his ashy blue veins.

"What is that?" I asked, lightly tracing my fingers over it. The foot squirmed as I made contact with the sensitive area. I mumbled a careless apology.

"In furrist nd…nd tek o-off bhoot…" He said, fighting for the words that he could barely remember never mind pronounce.

"Why?"

"Wha?"

"_Why did you take off your boot?_" I reminded him. "You were walking in the forest and you took off your boot."

"Uhhh…oh! Tek it off…t-to wish foodt."

"Wish?"

"No." He corrected and nudged toward the stream. "Wish foodt een waaaahtr."

"Oh! Okay, continue." Washing your foot makes more sense than wishing it. Maybe he wasn't crazy.

"B-but…grund make foodt oww so pud it n' 'da waahtr."

It took me a while but if I decoded it properly, he said he that somehow hurt his bare foot on the ground and decided to put it in the water. I guess that checks out. "Was this before or after you were a zombie?"

"Uhhh…No, Onee alv."

"Alright. Then what?"

"Um… 'Den dissy nd furghetts." He frowned.

"You don't have anything after that?"

He considered this question. "I 'member Whoods. 'Member sooo goohd." He smiled and weakly tapped a finger against his cranium.

"Yeah, me too but that's not of importance right now. What I need to know is where you came from _before_ this." I helped his foot back into his boot.

"Furghetts."

"I've got that much but do you think you could somehow…_bring back_ those memories? Will you ever _remember_?"

"On-lee sumtems."

I sighed and let my head again fall into my hands. I had a tough decision to make. Do I take him home with the chance of learning that I wasn't alone or do I raise my gun again? Am I horribly mistaken in my trust of him or is he really the act of mercy I had prayed for? Is this corpse a miracle or a curse? When I raised my head, I got my answer in those deep, wise eyes.

"Alright, let's go." I called and lifted myself wearily from the log. Without questions, he did the same and took to my side (more huffing and groaning on his side though. It's that whole zombie thing, ya' know?).

He didn't speak for the first ten minutes, it was a nice break. "Whoods?" He finally asked, breaking my mellow state of mind.

"What?"

"Say…Say 'bout 'da humns."

"Say _what_ about them?"

"Say…how 'dey wz alv." He requested.

How they were alive? Like, before the rapture? "Well, there were more than there are today. Actually, a lot more. People weren't zombies unless they'd gotten themselves up on something crazy. Stop dragging your feet." He huffed at me but did a little better to silence his steps.

"Whoods bruthr?" A tightness gripped my chest.

"Yeah, I had a brother."

"Wher?"

"Some stuff happened and he's not here anymore. That's all."

"Wher?"

"That's all." I repeated sternly.

He did his best to respect my wishes by taking back to silence but not for long. "Wha 'dis?" He poked a finger at the embroidery on my sleeve of my thick army jacket.

"It says: Vivere senza paura dei morti. We all got them in our native language when we joined the Forces Against the Immune and it means, _Live without fear of the dead._ It's kinda like their motto. Hey, bet you didn't know that I was there for the Battle of Thermopylaye." Of course he didn't but I wanted to tell him anyways to fuel my pride.

"Oh?" He asked, proudly pretending that he had the slightest idea what I was talking about.

"Yeah. It was a time when the government gave up on solutions and just handed out guns to everyone. It was a big game to see who could kill the most zombies. Of course, it didn't really work."

"Wha?"

"Well, if you arm every hysterical, PTSD blubbernut, you'll end up with a world full of crazy people. Every neighborhood becomes a war zone, the police become useless and the only way we can control large masses of people is through more gas. Not a good idea but I was part of the team that finally brought it to an end."

"Was 'dis?" He twisted his head around, doing his best to see the tag across the back of his jacket.

"It says… First commission: Twelvemile Beach." You see, back in the day, Michigan was the zombie hub for the U.S and there was a huge battle that took place on Twelvemile Beach against the corpses. The human forces won, finally killing off all the immune that they could track down in a ten-mile perimeter. This battle was practically a legend; they had songs written about it. "This is an Immune Platoon patch. Hey, were you here?"

I felt a bit of excitement when I saw some trace human in his blood, however far gone it was now. With a big smile slung over his face, he jabbed his finger at the red patch on his other sleeve. "Carr-i-e-do." I read, sounding out the badly aged and weathered print. "What's that? Is that your name?"

"Uh…Yss! Yss! Un-furghetts!"

"Really!?" That animated glow in his eyes was all too contagious and soon I was just as thrilled as he. I hadn't known him more than a few hours and I was already taking pride in his accomplishments. Man, I am one crazy son-offa-bitch.

"Yss! Onee Cahree-do!"

I swear, _for one split second_, I felt like kissing that damn bastard right on the smackeroos. I brushed this off by telling myself that the branch I was chewing on must have been a little funky. I'm slightly high, that's all. Nothing else. "Alright Carriedo, let's see what else you've got. How about…" I searched his body for any more suspicious hints of a story. "How about this?" I pointed to the patch with an image of a bull that was sewn onto his breast pocket. Above it were needle holes, suggesting that there had once been more patches decorating the uniform.

" 'Dat…hmm." He puffed out his chest some more to see it slightly better. " 'Dat is…im-pertnt." He declared and gave me his defeated, pathetic eyes.

"Important? Is that all you've got?"

"Yss, furghetts…" His head suddenly became heavier as he realized his roll was over.

"Hey, common, Big guy. You'll get it later." Jeez…was I trying to motivate a zombie? What happened to me?

So we went on and made it back to Mansion a-la Lovino within the hour. God, it was a dump. I did my best to keep it clean but lemon Pledge is hard to come by in a rapture. I really should upgrade. People would respect me more if I upgraded. Then again…no body was around to be unimpressed anyways. Just me and the freak show they call Carriedo. Better than nothing I guess.

The front door squealed sickly when I swung it open and the floor boards wheezed under my familiar leather boots. I set the jug on the "dining room" table before instructing One to do the same. Home isn't home unless it smells like rotting wood and fresh rain. In the cuppord, I retrieved my bug shampoo. It was meant for dogs and probably way out of date but it was better than bugs. "Bathtime!"I called. He gave me an interested look that I caught out of the corner of my eye. "For you, not for me. look, I've got a clean towel and soap. Living the life of a prince, I know." I took him outside to the tub. It was actually a blue, plastic, kiddy pool that didn't hold much more than a few gallons but you really can't trust the river. Immunes leave all sorts of diseases in the water ways. Here's a tip, get it from the sky. Acid rain is better than a stream swimming with Polio, Cholera and Ebola.

Thankfully, it had rained only the day before and I tarped it to cut down on Malaria. Perfectly safe, a baby could drink it and better yet, a zombie could bathe in it. He stripped down and got in but not without complaining about the temperature. He whined and pouted and kept trying to inch out of the water. "Man up, ya' weenie." I growled, taking a shoulder and pushing him back in. if I cried every time I had to face cold water or a stubbed toe, I'd have been corpse chow every time I opened the door.

"Owww…" He continued.

"You know what Gernal Ford at my base used to tell all us soldiers?" He shook his head. "He'd say: Tuck yur' balls in 'cause they ain't get much prettier, tootsie pops." I'm not sure if I actually smiled or if it was just a muscle memory, sparked by my recollections of training on the base. Back then, it felt like hell but now I envied it so much.

I dragged a tire beside the pool for me to sit on and began to dump water over Carriedo's head with a shambly, little pail. "He once hit a guy so hard that he lost a tooth. The guy, not Ol' Ford. Just popped right out and skitted on the floor."

"Why?" He asked. Turning to look at me just as another dump came down. He squinched up his face and rubbed his eyes afterwords. I almost laughed…_almost._

"Geez, I don't remember. He was…I think the guy was sassing him about something. That's usually the case. Even if nobody said nothing, he'd still think he was being sassed." I doused his head in shampoo and began to work it through his hair. He wasn't a fan of this either. He'd stay put for a while and try to be good but eventually, he'd shift away while complaining that there was soap on his face. He was especially devastated when I told him that he actually had to keep the tingly shampoo on his head for thirty minutes. I tried to make it a tiny bit better by getting a rag from inside and washing off his face for him.

After scrubbing for a little over a minute, it was apparent that dirt would just come off in sudsy heaps. If he _had_ been bathing himself, then he wasn't doing a very good job of it. Under his fingernails were glaciers of built up dirt and grime. He was practically black behind his ears and he could use a haircut.

He giggled and squirmed when I cleaned his sides then winced and whined when it came to the scars on his back. True, he hadn't lived without getting his fair share of damage. "How long's it been since you seen your skin?" I asked and chuckled, rubbing the rag over his knobby knees. The only answer I got was a shrug since he clearly didn't understand the joke. I hummed the forest song and he tried to follow along without actually knowing any of the tune. Finally, the time came to relieve the poor baby of his torture. "Any bugs that _were_ in your hair before should be very much dead now." I announced and poured the first pail-full over those thick, cocoa, locks. The water itself had become muddy with his filth so instead, I started using my reserve rain water. It only took about one canister once I washed his hair and rinsed his entire form and that's about one day of collection so I didn't feel too scammed.

I dried him off before he could go back into the house. I tried to let him dry himself but the stupid idiot can't so anything right, he just patted it on his chest and legs and called it done. I hadn't had a chance to do laundry so he had to wear one of my few outfits. He should have thanked me, no woman can resist a zombie in a Joe's Crab Shack T-shirt and cargo shorts. He wanted to put his boots back on but I told him that his feet needed some time to re-coop from their agony. He kept arguing with me about it until he finally admitted that he was afraid of someone stealing them so I let him keep them inside (even though they smelt like dead rodent). Damn, I'm becoming a push over.

After that, we sat down in front of the fire place and I scavenged his head like an ape, pulling out every minuscule cootie or egg. It was torture. I would part some hair, pinch a buggy corpse and lay it to rest on a piece of newspaper. That night, I learned how jumpy One could be when he's bored, frustrated and tired. Telling him to shut up and keep still as little to no effect. It took me what I assume was a million hours to finish with him and toss the newspaper into the fire. The last thing I want is immune lice.

Then, we ate. Well, _I_ ate. He was still full from those two corpses in the forest so it was just me. I wish I could say that I popped open a can of beans or even a packet of ketchup but no, I was on a Timon and Pumba diet in which I feast on a bird egg and a twig. Hunger isn't a new feeling, it's something I have to live with. I _have_ non-perishable goods but I'm saving them while I'm still lucky enough to have nature to feed me. Bugs aren't that bad.

It came time to sleep when Carriedo realized that he wasn't sleepy at all. "Whoods, cn't watch goohd." He said, proving his point my trying to look out the boarded up window then looking back to me once he had proved that this wasn't possible. He's quite the genius, I can assure you.

"Just sit by the door then. If someone tries to come in, _you'll know_." I un-did the button on my pants then slid them down and got under the covers.

"Whoods." He continued.

"What?" I snarled.

"Whoods, guhn." He pointed to the revolver under my pillow. "Not oh-ke."

"Oh, leave me alone, will 'ya? It's there for safe keeping. How do I know you won't take it and shoot me in the middle of the night?"

He thought long and hard about this question. "Onee c'nt make guhn _boom_." He explained. I guess that was true. I'd never seen him work a gun in the whole day I'd known him.

"Yeah, well, I want it there."

"Not oh-ke." He objected, shaking his head.

"It's _okay_ if I say it is."

"No guhn."

"_Yes_ gun."

"_No_ guhn."

"God damn it, Carriedo. Leave me be, I need to sleep."

"_No guhn_!" He insisted.

"Fine, dammit! You can hold onto it until the morning. Just don't go shooting things, okay?" I tossed it over to him and this time he actually caught it.

"Oh-ke! Seep, Whoods! Onee make whoods oh-ke~"

"Yeah, whatever. Goodnight." I grumbled and threw the blanket over my head. Not a moment later did everything go black as I was lured into the numbing world of unconsciousness.


	3. Blessed are the merciful

NOT DEAD YET

**Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy  
Entry: 03**

I was awoken in the dead of night by the sound of my name being squealed on high alarm. At first, I foolishly, tossed off my blankets and jumped to my feet. It didn't take long for me to realize that nothing had happened. The immune's eyes watched me, their whites ripping through the dark. "Were you the one calling me?" I demanded.

"Ys." He nodded.

"What the hell for!? Where's the fire!?"The idiot looked around, searching for the fire I spoke of. "No, there's no fire, forget it. Why did you wake me up?"

He tried to remember. "Oh! Nuu-oiz."

"Noise? Really?"

He nodded again.

"There's _always_ noise, idiot." I groaned and fell back into bed. "If there's a fire, a flood or a crazy-rabid zombie,_ then_ you can wake me up." I pulled the blanket over my head but the thin whining continued. I did my best to ignore it… That becomes increasingly more difficult when the whining turns into the chanting of "Whoods…..Whoods…Whoooods."

I uncovered my eyes so I could glare into his. He just stared at me expectantly. "What, you want a reward?" I spat, not at all happy to still be awake.

"Ys!"

"Yeah, well, you don't _deserve_ a reward. You deserve a punch in the face so your reward is not getting punched in the face. Your welcome, goodnight." I don't know why I would expect the whining to go away, he was like a freak'n puppy. Eventually, I gave up and tossed him the blanket that I was using to cover my head. He examined it then put on _his_ head like I had done. Stupid bastard. "Good. Night." I repeated and didn't wake up again until morning. I'm not sure how I could really survive like this. I don't know if you knew this but I'm not a people person… or a zombie person. I'm _really_ not a zombie person. Especially when they're annoying and dumb as all hell.

I think he got confused when he put that blanket on his head because he was still sitting there blindly and looking around as if he could see things in his space-cadet helmet. I was too tired to care. I dragged myself into the kitchen and found the little tin of coffee grounds. I tried to save them for special occasions but I would definitely need them today if I was going to be the official zombie babysitter. He removed his turban when he heard me stop in front of him. Curious green eyes looked up at me.

"Breakfast, common, let's go. It's the most important meal of the day." I jabbed him with my foot until he stood up, draping the blanket over his shoulders like a cape and trudging after me as went made our way outside. I lit a fire with some dry tree branches while he sat down and became useless. "The board here isn't free." I reminded him. "You're going to work just as much I do. Go find some meat."

"Mee- dt?"

I groaned. Of course, the simplest things would become a challenge of Olympic proportion now. I really should have just left him in the damn woods… but… well, it goes like this: You know how old people are always so damn insistent on telling you about their lives? You never care, you sit around while they tell you for the hundredth time about their crumby high school and how they used to throw pieces of paper at the boy who sat in front of them or they'll tell you all about their crumby vacation and they'll be so god damn happy about it too. My grandpa used to do that to me all the time. I'd heard the story about the time he rode his motor bike off a hill just about a million times but he still wanted to tell me again and I never got why it was so damn important until I realized the fickleness of my own life.

The thing about old people is, they know damn well that there isn't much left and they can't just disappear off the face of the earth without having somebody who can verify that they lived so they try so hard to imbed their stories into your brain. It took me about one week on my own to really get it. I understood that I was possibly the last human and once I had my brain eaten out, no one would remember. The race that had been the mightiest force on the planet would be gone without a trace and I was just a grain of the history. That's when I started wishing real bad for someone to talk to so I wouldn't just die as if I had never been born. I'm really just delusional but I like to think that the corpse has some sort of comprehension or compassion. I like to mark him as _not dead yet_ when it's clear that there's no drumming in his chest. I don't know what my problem is but I like to think that he's the other human.

"Here." I dug around in the bag beside me and pulled out a cardboard box labeled: _Bicycle 100 Poker Chips_. "This is your new job. You're going to take these and go into the forest. Leave _1 _poker chip at every other tree you pass and make sure you don't go far enough to run out of chips. Got that?" He nodded, watching me carefully. "You need to get protein which means an egg, a rodent, or grubs. _NO ZOMBIES. __Do not_bring back a zombie."

"No zoomie~" He repeated cheerfully. This damn bastard was way too happy to be part of the apocalypse.

"Right. And when you find something, don't eat it. Just kill it and bring it back. Got it?"

"Ys!"

"Tell me what you're going to do."

"Uh…git chihs…go furriest…poot chihs on tree 'nd git meedt. Oh! But not zoomie."

"Okay, I guess you're close enough." I handed him the chips. "Don't get lost and don't take more than _ten minutes_. If I have to come looking for you… it'll only be to get my poker chips back and then I'll just leave you there. Understand?" (Who am I kidding, he can't tell time and neither can I.)

"Uhn-er-stnd!" With that, he took off on his noble quest, placing the first poker chip down carefully and looking to me for approval before carrying on. I started boiling water and set up a pan to warm for the meat. I can't deny being a _little bit_ anxious. I used to get this way all the time when I was separated from my brother because I worried that the moment I lost sight of him, he'd be eaten. I had no reason to worry about One but I still did because there was never a tomber who ever crossed the path of an immune without killing it.

Let me explain. A tomber (_too-mer_) isn't a mass of tissue or uncontrolled growth that you would read about in the Health and Science magazine. A tomber is the name they started giving to thugs during the whole apocalypse scene. As government became weak, people naturally rallied together and these sorts of gang things were formed. There were tons of them. In the U.S alone, there were more than I can remember. You've got the Woa-noa (_woah-a-know-a_) and the Last Cowboys in the South and in the North there's the Gutsies, The Breakers and worst of all_ Spits and Pops_. The name sounds like a kiddy TV show but the SP were the Al Capones and Hitlers of their day. You can forget the other gangs, they were just good with under-the-counter drugs and goodies. All the real business was reserved for the Spits and Pops.

They didn't bother with government or alliances or any of that hullabaloo. They had their turf and they were god damn set on keeping it theirs, those crazy bastards. When it came to the immune, it was the holocaust _times ten_. What these guys did to them… no mercy. I'll spare you the details as best I can, your welcome. They never got any shit from anybody about it either because nobody cared nothing for zombies and they wouldn't stand up to them even if they did. I haven't seen some one in a SP gas mask for over four years now but that doesn't mean they're not still out there. That doesn't mean I didn't worry just a little bit about One.

There was once this guy, Sunny Broozer. Hell if I know if he's still alive or not but he was head honcho to the Spits and Pops. You really outta have seen this guy, I mean, he was the real deal. There was a picture of him that was real popular, it was on the newspapers all the time 'cause some lunatic snapped it right when Sunny wasn't looking.

In the shot, he was standing up tall, right at profile with the sun. A thin white cigarette hug lazily from his lip and he glared with malicious calmness into the eyes of an immune as if they were facing off purely with the wretchedness of their souls. His face was so sinister yet almost relaxing in his simplistic demeanor. In his hand, he gripped Lucy-Baby, his favorite rifle and his body was cloaked his long, linky trench coat. That's the image that was sketched into the brain of every human on Earth. You see, Sunny was a hero. He was horribly terrifying but the kind of bad boy that draws you in like a bug to light. He had a special telephone line where people could call into his operators if they were having trouble with a corpse. Kids used to have this little chant that they sang if some poor bastard of a zombie came stumbling through their cookie-cutter neighborhoods. If I'm remembering right, it was sung like this:

Zombie boy, you best run!

Sunny's gone to get his gun!

First you run, then you hide.

Immune platoon is re-supplied.

He hang you first then slit your throat

Then he teach you how to float.

Sunny Broozer ain't much fun.

Sunny's gone to get his gun.

Sure enough, the immune platoon was summoned and they'd show up as if out of nowhere in their sleek black cars then they'd take the monster away. They didn't kill them…at least, not right there. Sunny had a grudge like something awful. Nobody really knew why but they said he had a girl named Lucy once (as suggested by the name of his gun) who was eaten up so he turned her ashes into a weapon and kept her at his side at all times while killing off every corpse he could find. That's why so many immunes went into headquarters alive. People said he did experiments and some claimed it was just purely torture. No matter the rumor, they all ended in unethical extermination.

I stirred the water around in the pot for a while, diverting my attention from my irrational fears. He can take care of himself, he's a _zombie_ after all. The pan was almost temperature enough for cooking and he was going to be in big trouble if he didn't get back soon. Seconds ticked by…then minutes…god damn it! Where was that bastard? "Carriedo?" I called, careful not raise my voice too loudly. Dammit, that idiot fucked me up and now I'm all fussy over someone who's already dead. I wasn't answered so I began stirring again, willing myself to wait a few more minutes. He was going to get an ass-whoop'n when I saw him.

I waited…then I waited longer...

Dammit! I set down the stirring rod and headed into the greenery, following the trail of poker chips until they abruptly ended in a scattered mess on the forest floor. There was no blood which means he wasn't picked up by Ol' Sunny and the long, dragged footsteps indicated a path across the messy Earth floor. I swear to god, he could win against a panda in a stupid contest.

I followed the trail until I found him sitting in the dirt and picking at something with his fingers. "What'chya doing?" I growled, making him jump. When he saw me, he had to look me over before he could remember who I was.

"Whoods~" He smiled and looked to the limp forms at his side. "Oh! Mee-dt! Look!" He picked them up and handed them to me. I couldn't believe it…squirrels!

"Jeez Christ, Carriedo!? Where'd you find squirrels!?" My anger dissipated almost instantaneously as my mind was blown. Squirrels are delicious and damn near impossible to obtain. My best was usually a lizard.

"See 'dem ruu-uhn… 'nd chazze." He reached out and gripped for air, demonstrating just how it was done. I examined the corpses in my hands. He hadn't even put effort into killing them, just the pure force of his grip smashed their tiny skulls. I turned to him and remembered that I was angry. "What took you so long?" I demanded, letting the small mammals fall out of my vision.

"Skuurrl 'ad nuss!"

"Nuts?" He held out his hand to show me the tiny, bruised, green, kidney-like, nuts. They had all been tampered with as he tried to extract the nut from the shell. "The _squirrels _had those?"

"Yss!"

I smacked his hand, sending the nuts sprawling across the ground, much to his disappointment. "Did you _eat_ any?" I asked.

He shook his head quickly and got to his feet. I again asked if he had eaten any and he again denied, not understanding the source of my hostility. "Cashews," I told him, pointing to the discarded kernels, "Have shells and shells have sap. Cashew sap is _bad_, got that? Now, just tell me if you ate them or not." I don't know why I should even care, he's immune. I'm Lovino Vargas for Chrissake! I could very well be the last human on Earth, I don't have to fuss over some immune son-offa-bitch. Yet…I did. I gave a shit and in an apocalypse, the _last_ thing you want to do is give a shit.

"No eeed!" He confirmed, opening his mouth to show that it was empty.

"Close your mouth, your breath stinks." He obeyed. "Lemme' see your hands." I grumbled. Playing Mommy is not my strong suit. He held out his hands and flipped them over when I instructed. "Alright, don't touch anything. Let's go."

With that, we headed back to the shack which I assume was burnt down due to the unattended fire. All in all, I was feeling pretty bitter. I felt substantially less manly for loosing complete control of my house which made me pissy, I was practically nursing an immune which made me pissy and that immune kept reminding me of my baby brother which straight up pissed me off. God must have some pent up anger that he needs to take out and looked to me as a vessel. Please god…get the zombies next time. _Get 'em good_.

Seeing that my shelter hadn't been reduced to rumble was a relief. I sat down and began to skin the rodents, salvaging my silence. Time drifted on as he sensed my displeasure in engaging in conversation. He was smart enough to wait until he thought that I had forgotten. "Whoo-"

"Sh." I growled, concentrating on getting a good cut under the tailbone, which is always the hardest part for me. The brisk air pricked at my venerable cheeks and nose but I didn't dare reach to warm them for fear of breaking the seriousness I was currently trying to portray.

"Whoo-"

"Shut up." I sliced carefully and deliberately ignored the curly-haired zombie. This guy could honestly have a TV show that's just purely him being annoying. They'd call it The Whining Dead and all the stupid people would tune in every Sunday night so see a new adventure of America's favorite dipshit.

He waited a while, respecting my need for silence until resorting to humming. I figured it wasn't even worth shushing him because that would be more attention which might make him think that I've stopped being upset. I stepped on the tail and slid off the skin with a bit of unnecessary violence while the humming continued like a vicious ringing. "What are you even humming?" I spat.

"Furrist sung but dn't knoo how. Whoods sng it insed!" He cheered. First of all, I'm not inclined to sing him a song just because he doesn't know the tune and secondly, I don't sing at all, that bastard. I declined with a hard _no_ so he started humming his deranged little melody.

"Shut up." I said as I started on the second squirrel.

"Sung furrist sng!" He cried, clearly not willing to let it die. Sing forrest song?Hm, let me think about that…

"No."

"Peees! Onee dn't knoo how!"

"Why is it so god damn important? It's just a song."

"Is…goohd~"

"It's not even that good, my brother-" The words softened as soon as I heard them. "My brother made it up."

"Bruthr Whoods make goohd sng."

"Yeah, well he was good at a lot of things."

"Whur is Bruthr Whoods?"

I jerked off the hide of the second squirrel. "He's not here."

"Whur?"

"Drop it."

"Whur is Bruthr Wh-"

"DROP IT!" I shot as I felt my heart take a sudden burst from my chest. One's guilty face was enough for me to instantly feel the toll of my outburst. Those big green eyes…they could drive a hole through me just like my brother's. Every emotion could be displayed clear as color in those eyes…so much so that they practically drove me mad. He looked so much like my brother that I was disgusted by my own ability to compare my poor, baby brother to an undead monster. "I'm sorry." I whispered, dropping my head and busying myself with the task of removing feet from the rodents.

"Whoods oww?"

"I'm fine." I grumbled.

"Then…then Whoods cun sung furrist sng?"

"Hand me those hangers."

He found the metal hangers I spoke of and gently laid them in my open palm. "Furrist sng now?"

"Not right now." I bent the hangers into steaks and shishkabobbed the rodents.

"Oh-ke." He nodded like he actually understood the concept of patience before returning into an awkward silence. Dim blue light filtered around us, a sign that the Earth was once again awaking, continuing it's never ending cycle. The Earth isn't swayed by us humans. That's something you don't notice until faced with a circumstance like the apocalypse. We always think that we could save or destroy the Earth. We believe that we're a special, amazing, race and that the Earth is here because we need a home but that isn't the case at all. When we're all gone, this planet will still only accommodate to its own needs. We're a product of perfect circumstance and even if all your loved ones are killed, the world won't give a shit about you. "Whoods _look_ oww." A thin voice interrupted.

"I'm fine." I told him as I roasted our breakfast.

He got up from his designated seat across the flame and moved to sit beside me on the tire. That stupid smile returned to his face. "What'chya doin' there, Trouble?" He asked in a voice that wasn't his own, as if he were impersonating a tape recording, sound for sound.

"What?" I asked in shock. His words were so fluent and clear that at first, I thought I had run into a _fully alive_ corpse.

"What'chya doin' there, Trouble?" He repeated, exactly the same as the last time.

"Wha…Where'd you hear that?" Those couldn't have been his own words, no way. Maybe they were the catch phrase of a well-loved relative or a radio comedian, _something_. Regardless of who they were from, they were proof that he _could_ remember.

"Furghetts." He shrugged.

"Can you remember anything else?"

"Uh…What'chya doin' there, Trouble?"

"You already said that. _What else_?"

"Furghetts."

"Common, give me _something_."

He sqinched up his face and thought real hard…well, as hard as a dead brain _can_ think. "See…see….." He really was trying his hardest, I could tell. "See nuthn, see blag." He sighed and opened his eyes.

"Black? Really? Black as in… like..ash? Or black as in the black plague or like-"

"Blag when cloze ize." He corrected.

Oh great, so Sherlock here was seeing the inside of his eyelids. What did I expect? Has he ever proven to be the vessel for miracles? With that, I grumbled and relaxed myself back into my seat. "Who said you could sit over here anyways?"

"Wunt to heer furrist sng."

"For Crissake! I said _no_, now lay off."

"But Onee wunt to heer furrist sng!" he protested, leaning dangerously close to the flame. I ushered him back and grumbled a warning in vein. You know what they used to say, in one ear and out the other…well…they used to say that when there _was_ a they.

I bitterly ignored him because I was god damn tired of his whining. What ever happened to the undead just moaning and drooling like they did in the old time movies? I'm stuck here with Chatty-Kathy, the undead mumble king. The zombies you see in the films had pasty, green, flesh and exposed ribs. In reality, a zombie can die just as easily as a human can (albeit, a bit tougher due to ignorance of pain) so none of them just walk around with organs trailing behind them, those ones die in just a day or two from disease if not blood loss.

If you want to know the truth, I'd really prefer the rise-from-the-grave movie kind because it's only worse when they actually look like humans. It hurts like hell to see them so pathetic and stupid, bathing in their own filth and tearing flesh from a lost relative. That's what makes it so hard to hate One as much as I want to. He _looks _like a human, he _acts_ like a human, he speaks English for Crissake! For now, I was really just doing my best to convince myself that he was a stupid zombie and that I didn't care at all.

"Whoods…"

"NO. SONG." I repeated sternly. The squirrels were almost completely golden-brown.

"Whaaa?" He complained. I swear, he was just like my br-! No, he wasn't. He's a corpse and my brother is a martyr, killed at the hands of the immune. God damn that Lovino, the hypocritical bastard.

"Iz da meedt goohd?"

"Almost."

"When?"

"Soon. Just a minute more."

"Eeed it?"

"_Just a minute_. Go wash your hands, there's soap in the cupboard." He got up and left but not before I explained _why_ he had to do it because the dumb bastard said he was too tired to do anything.

I love the silence. It makes it all the easier for me to hear the voices in my head screaming that this is a bad idea. _Why are you still doing this? This really isn't a good idea. What do you think you're accomplishing? What about poor Feliciano? Did you already forget? What about revenge? Don't tell me you want to be loved by a __**zombie**__?_

He returned not too long after he had left. "What?" I snapped as he just stared at me, his hands dry.

"Whas…iz soop?"He asked. At least, at my lowest level of patheticness, I'll have _one single bit_ of pride. I'll think, _"Well, at least I'm not Carriedo."_

"Fuck, Carriedo." I groaned. "Soap's a little ball like this and it smells like flowers." He nodded for a while, trying to get a clear image of this mystery object before answering with an "Okee" and shuffling back into the shack. The rodents came off the barbeque just in time for him to plop himself back down beside me. I must have warned him a hundred times but he still burnt his mouth and damn near cried about it. In fact, there were a few tears but I'm sure that's because I smacked him for being such a wuss.

I can't say breakfast wasn't one of the best moment in my life because it was. A warm meal and silence. My squirrel was gone in a horrifically short amount of time and I was about to ask One for his when I saw the slobbery remains of bone fragments. I feared to ask what had happened to the inedible parts of the carnage but he seemed perfectly content with himself so I let it be. "_NOW_ Whoods sng furrist sung~" He insisted cheerfully.

"No."

"Yss!"

That bastard. "No."

"Si!"

"What?"

"Ys!"

"You said _si_… do you speak Italian?"

"Wha?"

"God damn it, Carriedo. You said _si_. Just now you did. Why?"

He shrugged.

"Here, okay, perfect idea. _I'll_ hum the forest song for you and _you_ spend the rest of the day remembering things." Hope began to tingle in my fingertips as if I could simply grasp the answers. He may be dead and he may be an idiot but _something's_ still hanging on in that brain of his. He _knows_ things that I've only dreamt of knowing.

"Okee!"

"No shit? You're going to keep up your side of the deal?"

"Yss! O' curse, curse!"

"You'll _remember_?"

"Ys! Sng furrist sung!" He insisted and closed his eyes in concentration which I was glad for because the heat of the fire was making my face red and I didn't want a dumbass like him to think that I was blushing or anything stupid like that. Slowly but surely, I began to hum and drag a stick though the dirt awkwardly. It was a tune I knew well because my brother had always sung it in the most annoying times possible. It was a very simple melody, rather like the bubbly giggle of bells or like a grand tree string orchestra that strums its bow just as wind winds though the arms of giant oaks. The song excelled in its innocent glory. The tune was never forceful but also never slight enough to slip through existence. Even when it wasn't sung, I heard it simply as the call of the nature when it mourned for the loss of its child, my brother, who was nothing but goodness and innocence.

By the time the melody had run its course, I had successfully scribbled in the dirt like a stroke victim with a stick. Carriedo insisted that I sing it again but I refused so he instead made it his mission to remember the whole thing. "Your turn. Start remembering." I ordered.

"Okee~" He agreed but gave no other effort towards the cause. He had his eyes trained on the ground and bobbed his head to the imaginary beat, openly ignoring me.

"Are you remembering?" I asked with a scowl.

"Meebee~" He chuckled.

"No maybe, just _do._" Stupid bastard. He thinks he's such a funny guy but here's some news: The funny guy always dies first. Jesus Christ, I think I'm developing an ulcer.

"O'curse!" He smiled and continued to blatantly ignore the task. Damn idiot. I poured some of the hot water into my Christmas-themed mug, popped open the coffee tin with a satisfying _puh _, and made myself some life soup.

"You're the work of the devil." I growled under my breath at that damn lunatic who giggled in response and watched as I drank. I never used to like coffee because I spat and cursed when that scorching bitterness hit my tongue. I never saw how people would drink something downright painful but now I understand. I take my coffee black as all hell.

"Whoods."

"Wah?" I demanded.

"Dihd Whoods aver rite sung?"

"Me? No, never. That was my brother's thing."

" If Whoods rite sung…id bee goohd. I whood 'member id."

"Yeah right, you can't even remember your own name."

"Mu nem iz Onee."

"Onee _what_? There has to be more. No one's name is just Onee."

"Onee _Cahree-do_!"

"And _how old _are you, Mr. Onee Carriedo?"

"Uh…wull…furghetts…"

"Uh-huh… and what did your mother look like?"

"My muthr?"

I scoffed and blew into my coffee just enough to create a cloud of warm air. "Can you count to ten? Can you spell _cat_ or _dog_?"

By now, his dopey smile had deflated and thinned into a frustrated scowl. "Noo… buht Onee cuhd…"

"You could? _Really_? Could you come back from the dead or ever be a human again? Could you undo death?" I shouldn't tease, I shouldn't be such an asshole but, like my mama said, the good lord blessed us all with individual traits. Is that a good excuse? No. I just feel like sharing some of my frustration with him.

"Onee _IZ_ humn! Whoods bee-ng meeen! " He insisted, his face growing redder.

"I'm not being mean, _I'm_ being human. I'm thinking logically, it's something we humans do."

"Onee IZ humn! Onee thnks!"

"Only a real idiot can't see his own idiocy."

"No! Not!"

"Aren't you?! I'm sorry, I must be mistaken then. Here, this whole time, I was thinking you were a _stupid, ugly, pathetic,__**ZOMBIE**_! How would I know though?! Not like I kill those stupid bastards every day!"

"Onlee zoomie in foodt!"

"That's not even possible, you lunatic! You're a zombie, don't pretend to be a human, it's disgraceful." I spat and readied myself to get up and go inside.

"ONEE IZ REEL HUMN! I KNOH STUV!"

"Stuff? Like what? Like where you came from? What you're doing? Why you exist? Why you are the way you are? Where you're going? Yeah right, piss off Carriedo." I rose and turned away, heading straight to the door of my crumbly sha-

"ONEE GOE BECK TO HUMNS! ONEE KNOE WHUR 'E COM FRUM! HE COM FRUM HUMN TOWN PAST REVER! I WAHK OVUR REVER 'ND PAST WHIDT TEES 'ND FIND WHOODS BUHT NOW WHOODS IZ MEEEN!" The corpse yelled at me in pure anger then secluded himself back into his little ball of frustration.

I stared at him in awe…_in amazement_ of his words. He came from a _human_ town… where there are _humans_! Not only that, he went through the white trees, a patch of quaking aspen trees with thick, white, trunks that laid only fifteen miles East. God had listen to my prayers… he had _answered_! He had sent me a miracle! "_One?_" I asked, my voice thin and weak. The boy grumbled at me, still very sore. "One, did you _hear_ yourself?"

"Yss, Onee cun _heere_." He growled.

"No! That's not what I'm saying… I'm saying…_you remembered."_

It took him a second for the realization to hit him but when it did, his eyes widened to an amazing size and he looked up at me without words to say.

"_You remembered_." I repeated, a chuckle almost breaking through. He smiled, his lips tugging across the entire length of his face. "HOLY FUCK! YOU _REMEMBERED_!" I cried and lost myself to the enormous flood of relief. I threw myself at him and tried to squish his innards with the pure force of my grip. I was overjoyed. _Immensely _overjoyed. Thankfully, that wore out and I let go of the confused corpse.

"Feec…iz pnk." He mentioned.

"First of all, my face isn't _pink_, It's a very manly shade of red. Second, it's the stupid fire so don't get dumb ideas. The fire is all hot n' shit…" I gave up making excuses and simply returned to the safety of the house, coffee in hand. There, I gave myself some time to think everything through.

All right Lovino, what the fuck just happened to you? First, you and One were scrapping over some dumb shit but then…then he said something about coming from a town of humans. _Humans_ for chrissake! More of your own! Better yet, they couldn't be more than fifteen or twenty miles away!

And…for just one second…I felt _something_. Not any other something. Not anger or sadness or even happiness… I sparked just for one brief second. It was so real but it only lasted a split second and then it was gone. It was the weirdest thing. Maybe I'm like one of those crazy people they show on the TV in touching documentaries that get you just sappy enough to donate your fifty cents a week or maybe I'm dying.

That would be a total bummer.

While contemplating this apparent issue, I picked up a broken pen and chewed at the cap. I have this thing where I do weird little shit just 'cause I feel like it and 'cause no one in particular is watching. Minutes later, I used that same cap to itch at this place on my neck that was bugging the hell out of me.

I told myself to not bother about it. God knows, there are things a helluva lot worse than being a bit out of touch. Some people can't read in straight lines and some people can't walk 'em. Some people can't love and some people can't keep love. Some people can't do either. When I think about all the people who have more problems than I do, it makes me happy in kind of a sick way. Back when there were computers and people to man them, I would check the social network accounts of my exes (There were only ever two). I took pleasure in ripping up their current boyfriends and telling myself that I was the best they ever got. I'm not necessary a character that might appear in a hallmark movie with positive moral values. Actually, if you were an author and you needed a character that everyone could team up and hate, you'd probably come up with a character like me. That's the thing about me… nobody seems to like me.

Two thin knocks against the wall and I raised my head. "Whoods ang-ree?".

I thought about that, tapping the pen against my knee. "No…why would I be?"

"Cuz…Whoods _alweese_ ang-ree." He shrugged as if it were just a given fact.

"I'm not _always_ angry. I have anger issues. Wanna fight about it?"

He was taken aback by the proposition at first. "Iz funny?"

"Yeah, it was supposed to be but you screwed up all up by asking about it. Thanks for nothing."

"Funny ageen?"

"Stop doing that, you're bumming me out."

"Buhm oot?"

"Nah, I'm just in a crumby mood."

"Why?"

" 'Cause I wanna be."

"Dreek…dreek yur cuffee?"

I peered into the half-empty mug. "There's some left. Did you want it?"

"Wha?"

"Yeah, sure. You can have it. I don't care."

He sat down beside me and took the mug, inspecting the contents carefully. "Iz goohd?"

"Uh…I dunno. It's a weird taste, you get used to it." After I said that, silence followed. One hesitantly fished his tongue in then pulled it out the moment he tasted the coffee. It was probably a whole hour that we just sat there. Neither of us said a word but it didn't feel uncomfortable, I kind of like that about Carriedo. Sometimes he can just sense the mood. He's not actually very good at it but sometimes he prevails just when I need it. He's not terribly awful I guess, only mostly awful. "If we went to the white forest… would you remember a little more? Like, what's the likeliness of that?"

"Uh…ma-bee." He shrugged and swished the coffee around in the mug. "Alridee sed dat."

"Yeah, I know you did but I'm just _asking_."

"Why?"

"None of your business."

"Okee." He gave his attention back to the drink. I thought about coffee for a while then I thought about the kind of people who go to coffee places for the sole purpose of looking deep and poetic and then I thought about how much I don't like those people. Finally, I got around to thinking about my plan again.

"I'm think about…trying to find that human town." I admitted.

He looked up. "Onee com too."

"You wanna?"

"O curse."

"Why?"

"Onee make Whoods oh-ke."

"Hey…if you wanted…"

"Wha?"

"Nuthin…"

"_Wha_?" He insisted.

"I was just saying… if you _wanted_, you could call me Lovino."

"Why?"

"What's with all the questions?"

He didn't answer.

" 'Cause that's my name, dumb nut."

"_Lovi-o_?"

"Never mind, I changed my mind. It sounds stupid when you say it."

He ignored my request and looked me up and down, moving his lips to the name _Lovino_ as he did so. "Oh-ke. _Lovi ~_".

"It's not _Lovi_, it's _Lovino."_

"Too lung. Lovi eesier."

"I don't _care_ if it's too long for you, say it _right_."

"Gumpy."

"I'm not grumpy."

"Yss. Lovi gumpy."

"LO-VI-NO."

He laughed and began drinking the coffee again, that little dipshit. He smiled his big, stupid smile with his big, stupid face. Sometimes, I hate that bastard. "We leave tomorrow. Get my name right before then or I'll revoke your privilege to use it. No whining, no crying, no weird shit." With that, I walked off to have myself a nap. Who says manly men can't take naps? Those people have never prepared to tread through zombie-infested woods while being followed by one of the little fuckers. Those people haven't met One, who could suck the energy out of a child on Redbull. Those people don't know shit. People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones? Yeah, well, people in glass houses should shut the fuck up because they don't know what they're talking about.

_Naps aren't manly __**MY ASS**_.

(Please be aware that these chapters take a long time to write so updates may be scarce. Also, if you happen to notice errors and you want to let me know, I will very happily correct them as soon as possible and if you could leave a little hint as to where in the text you see the error, it would be much appreciated.)


	4. Blessed are those who mourn

NOT DEAD YET

**Blessed are those who mourn for they will be comforted.  
Entry: 04**

I adjusted the straps of my faded green backpack and we faced into the thick ocean of green. It was just dawn, the sun had barely awoken and now we waited in front of the shack, anticipating whatever fate might await us. Maybe we would find the Promised Land. Maybe we would find nothing. Maybe we would get lost and never be able to get home. Maybe we would be ripped limb from limb by undead bastards. Maybe everything would go wrong and the world would explode into tiny little pieces and we would all burn in hell.

When you're anxious, it's a good idea to forget the word _maybe_. "Don bee scurd. I make Lovi oh-ke."

"I'm _not_ scared and I don't need you to save me." Silence followed. "It's Lovino!" I corrected as soon as I noticed.

He laughed. "Oh-ke~"

"_Okay_ like you're going to do it again or _okay_ like you're going to get it right next time?"

"Oh-ke."

"Fuck you." I growled under my breath. I'm a firm believer that God invented bullets and taught men how to shoot each other in the head as an act of mercy because Carriedo could have the same effect on a guy but guns are a helluva lot faster.

We talked amongst ourselves for a little while and One convinced me not to torch the shack. Even _he_ knew the smoke would attract corpses like flies to honey. God, I wanted to watch that place burn, though. I mean it, I really did. I'd have lit myself a match and laid it right down under the floorboards then I'd have watched that thing turn to rubble.

Alas, revenge would have to wait. We left. I had a backpack and so did he. We each also carried a jug of water and the shirts on our backs. Other than that, we really only had each other. It's a miserable way to start your day.

"Was es-pa-zin?" He asked, midway through my previous sentence.

" An _expodition _is like…a trip. Y'know? Like, something big and important that you go do to find something."

"Fin wha?"

"Different stuff. _Important_ stuff. The kind of stuff you've gotta go looking for." Leaves crunched under our feet as if they were trying to be part of the conversation too.

"Wa iz wee lookn fur?"

"We're looking for a place were more humans are. Be careful of that log." I warned just as he nicked his toe on it.

"Sry." He gave to log along, threatening, stare then promptly forgot about it. "Wha iv not fin-d?"

"We _will_ find it and _saying_ we won't is bad joo-joo."

"Joo-joo?"

"Forces of nature that come back around and kick your ass. For example, being annoying earns you twenty years of bad joo-joo."

"Ten-y? Tin, nigh, ae, sev, sis-"

"Not like that. Twenty is ten more than ten." This concept blew his mind. He either didn't know that numbers above ten existed or that twenty was _ten_ more than the number _ten._ Pure magic.

I let this idea fester in his head for a good long time. I mean a _long_ time. His blank stare reminded me of what happens to computer when the task has become too much to handle and it needs to take a nap inside its own little brain. Carriedo was a frozen computer.

When he finally spoke again, it was of a completely different matter. "Lovi, Do ledderz make peepl appy?"

"Yes, letters make people happy. By the way, I'm going to kill you in your sleep if you don't get my name right."

"Make Lovi-o appy?"

"Yeah, I guess. Come to think of it, you haven't given me _any_ letters, you ungrateful bastard." I doubt he can even write.

"Sry! Dun cry!"

"Who the fuck said I'm crying!?"

"Lovi-o oww?"

"I don't care about the letters, forget it."

"Lke…uh…lke hugs?"

"Definitely not. I despise them. Fifty years bad joo-joo."

"Oh-ke, oh-ke. Lke...-"

"What's it to you what I like or don't like?_Huh_!?" I demanded. The bastard should mind his own god damn business.

"Humns lke too be appy."

"_No duh_."

"Lovi iz humn sooo…meek Lovi appy!"

"I don't want to be happy." I scoffed. "I was happy once and I hated it. It's not my thing."

"Lke humns?"

"Hate nearly all of them, actually."

"Lke cek?"

"I'm allergic to cake. Give it up, the dream is dead."

"Lke Doni?"

"Who?" In that moment, he had captured my attention. The boy didn't speak for a long while and finally answered with,

"_I'm_Doni…"

Then it hit me. "_Toni?_ _That's_your-"

"Das mu nem! Doni Car-eedo!"

"_Really_?"

He nodded excited. "Cah mee Doni frum now ahn."

"Sure, whatever." I dismissed as soon I realized that I actually cared. That's ridiculous. What's it matter to me? It doesn't. His name could be Lord Mc DumbFace for all I care. _In fact_, I prefer Lord Mc DumbFace. It suits him. Actually, I don't care. I don't care what _suits _him.

"I thnk my muthr's nem was Doni too."

"You're mother's name _was not_ Toni."

"Id cood be."

"No it couldn't, that's stupid."

"Why?"

" 'Cause Toni isn't a girl's name."

"Cood be."

"_No it couldn't_."

"Wha's Muthr Lovi's nem?"

"_I don't know_." I admitted bitterly.

"Don knoo?"

"_No, I don't_. We only ever called her Ma. Even my father called her Ma but I seriously doubt that was her name."

"Was fadrs nem?"

"Depends on who you ask."

"Dun mek sins."

"Why should I care what makes sense to you?"

"Why tu nems?"

"He didn't have two names, idiot. The man married to my mother was this happy bastard named Beppe but me and my brother look more like his friend, Domenico."

"Wha?"

"It's not brain surgery, ToniBoy."

"Beh-p-peh?"

"I hated that guy. He'd always be so god damn happy when we talked on the phone but on those times he actually came home, he was either bummed out as all hell or drunk off his ass. Ma always said he was a really great guy but ever since he saw how our hair cow-licked on the side, he couldn't look at us straight 'cause we looked so much like his bud." That guy pissed me off. It's not like it was my fault, dammit.

I was an idiot once, I got his hair gel and glued down the cowlick because I thought he would like me but the bastard saw what I had done and drank himself a river. I tried so hard to appease his petty wishes but he didn't once appreciate it. Thinking about all this anger that I had been pushing back reignited the fire that hadn't burnt in a long time. I mean it. Once I get going, _I get going_.

"You know what he did? Just to get away with completely ignoring us?" I spat, letting my feet fall extra hard on the forest floor. "He sent me and my brother a shit-load of toys all the time. That may have worked on my brother but I didn't fall for it. I ripped them up every time I got one. It got me in a helluva lot of trouble but what did I care? He tried sending just about every kind of toy there was but none of 'em lasted a week. I didn't want his god damn pity presents! _Why didn't he just __get that_!? Why didn't he just look me in the eyes like I wanted him to!? Why couldn't he _be there!?_ Why couldn't he have looked out for Ma or Feli so I wouldn't have to give up my childhood? Because he was a _GOD DAMN, IRRESPONSIBLE, NO GOOD, COWARDLY_-" I caught myself just as I stopped to breath.

Dammit…

I always said it wouldn't get to me but it always did. I get so caught up in that little shit. I looked over to the corpse who was speechless and equally surprised. Dammit… I hate remembering things… I hate Beppe and I hate myself for getting caught up in hating him… I hate being so full of hate and I hate hating that too. All I ever do is hate…I hate myself for that and I always will. I get why they say that hate is a vicious circle.

"Lovi iz oww. Don seey yur not becuz Doni knows fur shur."

He had a point. I couldn't deny it this far into the lie. I was hurt pretty damn bad and it was a real deep cut too. My gut bled and ached when the thoughts arose. I saw his smiling face, trying so hard to make me think he was happy but I could see how shallow that face was. I never could get him to meet eyes with me and when I asked him to, he said, "You're silly. I do all the time so why do you complain so much? It's just silliness, that all." _That's all?_ I can think back on my mother too. She was such a sad woman. She wanted so badly to feel loved. She was hopelessly hypnotized by her own fantasies so she would have any man who would act sweet to her. She gave me and my brother money to spend in town if she were expecting a guest that we weren't supposed to see. I remember the humming of the railroad station, where I took my brother once we had money enough. I remember his scared face and my reassurance that we would do better. I remember all the things I had tried so hard not to. _"Yeah, I'm hurt."_ I admitted.

"I knoo." He nodded, casually. "Lovi is huhrt a lod but dusn'd seey anyfing."

"It's easier to just forget it."

"Doni furghetts a lod too."

"Lucky you."

"But… furghrtting iz bahd becuz yu furghet fings dat…fings dat are _goohd_ to 'member."

"It's _my_ business, I don't need your nugget of wisdom. Just shut up."

"Oh-ke…" He whispered, sounding mildly hurt and actually once following through. I wished he hadn't though. I'd much rather have listened to his blabbering than give myself more time to cut myself on the sharp memories.

First, I thought about Beppe yelling at Feli one night while he was drunk. Feli kept nagging him to play pony and Beppe kept telling him to wait. Feli said something about him not being around enough and he snapped. He said, _"Maybe I'd come home more if I didn't come home to everyone nagging on me all the time!" _Needless to say, my brother ran off crying and Beppe sucked up to him apologetically for the next week. Next, I remember my brother nervously playing with the tag on his suitcase. He didn't shut up about how nervous mother would be or about how alone she'd feel.

"But we're _brothers_. She's our mother but I'm your brother." I remember telling him. "Stop crying. Come on, you know I wouldn't be doing this if it were a stupid idea. I've watched out for you every day _before_ now, just trust me this once. Don't disappoint me, I can do that myself." He laughed just a little bit and took his hand out of mine to dry off his cheeks.

"Okay. If you say it's right… I'll believe you. You can cry if you want to, you look like you want to cry."

"If I start crying, we'll just be a couple of blubbering children. _Someone's_ got to be the adult here."

"You're _mean_." He whined.

"Don't tell me you're going to be pouty the whole ride."

"I will if I want to."

"What if I get you one of those little packets with the mixed nuts? The kind we got on the train last time we went to see Grandpa."

His face lit up at the offer. God I miss him. I should have never let him get hurt. I should have taken better care of him. He always trusted that I would. I should have watched out for my baby brother. I should have done better. I should have tried harder. I should have kept my promises. I shouldn't have let him die.

_After all, I was the one who shot him._

"Lovi! Dun cry!" A familiar voice interrupted and only then did I feel the warm wetness running down my face. I gingerly touched my cheeks to be sure it was real. Strange…I didn't feel like I was crying… I just was. I stopped walking. "Lovi oh-ke?" One asked, bending down and studying my face with concern. Honestly, I didn't know. I wasn't feel very much of anything. He forced his large, calloused hand into mine and gripped. I didn't fight it. I didn't feel like fighting it. I just felt like standing there. Everyone's got cracks and sometimes they show, especially when you think about those things that you really shouldn't. For someone who's got a helluva lot of cracks, it ought to show more often. I should be a mess. I guess I have that much to be thankful for.

When my good senses returned, I pushed him away from me and told him to never do that again. He tried to argue that he had to because I was crying but I denied it all. We began walking very soon after words. Actually, I got up and sprinted away and he followed, awkwardly dragging around his jug of water the best he could. I didn't slow down until he started begging me to. I opted to pretend like nothing had ever happened, it made it less embarrassing that I had been so stupidly sappy. Crying is weak. Even if I have to lie myself out of every emotion, I will.

"Lovi?"

I didn't answer.

"Loooviii."

"That's _not_ my name."

"Lovi-_o_."

"What?" I demanded.

"Why oww?"

" 'Cause I want to be."

"Cause of Beh-p-peh?"

" 'Cause of a lot of things, ToniBoy. A lot of shit can go wrong in life, y'know what I mean?"

"Cause of bruthr too?"

"None of your business."

"Tell mee aboot bruthr."

"_It's none of your business_."

"Mu job iz too make Lovi oh-ke."

"_Says who_!? Says no one. Your job is to keep out of my business."

"Bruthr waz hurt."

"First of all, _he had a name_. Second, keep your nose out of my stuff. It doesn't matter."

"Nem?"

"His name was Stop Asking."

"No…das _gurl_ nem." He smiled. I don't know if he's really stupid or maybe trying to make a joke. I readjusted the straps of my pack uneasily.

"Do you wanna learn how to load the gun?" I offered. It's a stupid thing to teach a feared predator but I didn't actually fear Carriedo nor did I want to stay on the topic of my brother.

"Oh! Make id go boom!?"

"Yeah." I reached into my holster and retrieved the firearm, showing him.

"Yss!" We sat down ( I reminded him not to sit so close) and I showed him all about the cylinders and the barrel and the hammer and all that, just like my grandfather did for me when I was younger. Gramps was a very skeptical kind of guy. He was what you'd call a prepper. He never looked at anyone without squinting his eyes and accusing them of ridiculous secret lives. Regardless of his questionable sanity, he taught me just about everything that led to me surviving the rapture. He was the one who gave me the three life savers and who taught me how to shoot with impeccable accuracy.

I let him hold it and feel it for a while. I kind of felt like just going back to sleep 'cause I was pretty damn tired but I just know that idiot would end up landing a bullet in his ugly face. I took it away once I noticed how he was trying the peek down the barrel.

"You have to be careful. This one's loaded." I showed him the round of little, shiny, bullets then popped them back into position. "Don't point it at your face, even just to look down the barrel. Don't play with the trigger and don't get frustrated. The key is just to be comfortable with it." I lifted it and held it against my skull, finger on the trigger and all. I could pull it, easy. It was just a machine, it would do what I told it to. I could just pluck my finger back, just one, small, flinch of muscle. I even thought about it a little bit but like all the other times, I just didn't have the courage. I lowered it and chuckled to myself. "It can't do more than you tell it to, it's just a machine."

One snatched it away from me, a look of concern plaguing his face. "Lovi bahd!" He warned. "Lovi iz oww so can't ave guhn."

"_Oh please_, I'm fine." Said the emotionally unstable hypocrite.

"Doni curry guhn froom now ahhn."

"Look, if I _could_ shoot myself, I'd have done it already. You can stop being so fussy now, okay? It's my gun anyways so I can do what I want."

"Lovi _no_ _kill_…._**no**_…_bahd."_ He scolded as if I were animal, showing me the weapon and shaking it in front of my face.

"Piss off, Carriedo. I don't need your motherly advice, okay? Just shoot the damn thing."

"Seey yu wont kill." He demanded.

"I'm not promising anything because _it's none of your __**god damn **__business._ Now just shoot the gun. I showed you how so just do it."

He grumbled something about not killing while he checked the bullets, put the gun in order and began to aim. He was far too unsteady, mostly due to the fact that his zombie muscles were unpredictable and immune to his fickle control. I yelled at him to keep still and he tried but did no better. He couldn't steady himself. He moved as if he were beyond tired or drunk off his ass. It got me so irritated that I put my hands right over his and held them steady for him.

That son of a bitch blushed at me. I swear to god, his cheeks lit up like Rudolph's nose. Suddenly, his attention focused on me rather than his aim and his mouth hung open. "Close your god damn mouth!" I hissed, ripping the gun away from him and shoving it in my holster. He kept staring at me as if I had a third eye. I told him again to quit looking so dumb and he answered by opening and closing his mouth like a guppie, the powder pink not fading from his face.

"What!? Ya got a bug in there, Princess?"

"_Lovi_…"

"_Lo-vi-no_."

"Speh-shul."

"_What?_"

"_Speh….shuuul. _Lovi-o iz speh-shul."

"No. Uh-uh. Don't do this to me. You're too damn crazy to begiving me all this shit."

"I knoo fur shur. When…uh…when hunds tuch-"

"Jesus Christ, I just touched your hand so cool it."

"No, not. Vury speh-shul."

"_No, It's not_. Now shut it or I'll hurt you." That finally earned the bit of silence I was hoping for. The _last_ thing I wanted (besides becoming a zombie) was for Toni to start getting all funky. Trust me, there are plenty of wierdos in this world and I don't need their king as my traveling companion. I live by a powerful mantra that says: If you ignore it, it'll go away. I don't need more crazy in my life.

We walked along, Toni humming the forest song all the while. He eventually began adding lyrics which were a jumble of mismatched words, just whatever he could remember. I banned that game by verse three. After that, it was just more humming and failed attempts of whistles. I called lunch break for the sole purpose of shutting him up.

The log we sat on was damp. Not that it could helped but it sure made me feel crumby. "_**One**_ can." I corrected as Carriedo pulled out a second tin of diced fruit cocktail. "We only need one." He packed the second back into his bag and handed me the first tin. I took it. "We have to ration. What's in that bag will have to hold us over for a week at least."

"Was raa-shun?"

"It's what we do to make sure we have enough. If we eat a lot now, we won't have any for later. Get it?"

He nodded and watched me saw open the can with my pocket knife. I poured half the contents into the little plastic bowl I had brought and gave the meal to Toni then I, myself, picked from the can. "Back when I lived in a town with houses and schools and people, there were these signs posted to buildings that encouraged people to self-ration. They said: _Conservare oppure Affamare._ Save or Starve. The government isn't always wrong, I'll give them that much."

The boy simply nodded and continued to pick out slippery chunks of fruit. We ate quietly but I got sick of the silence. I think it was because, if I wasn't talking to him, I was talking to myself and that's a dangerous game. I kept thinking about that face he made at me when I touched his hands. It was really bugging me. I hated it…at least… I'm pretty sure I did. And I hated it when he called me special…well…maybe I didn't hate it so much…

That's stupid! Of course I hated it! It's stupid! _He's_ stupid! I don't know why I get so fussy over dumb shit like this. That's what happens when you start thinking about things, you screw yourself up. Now I was really itching to talk.

"Lovi?" He asked, just as I opened my mouth. He was looking into his bowl all depressed-like and mixing the fruit chunks around with his finger. It almost bummed me out…_almost_.

"Yeah?"

"Ar yu maahd ad mee?"

"Nah. I haven't really got a reason to be mad with you other than the fact that you eat all my food, complain too much and talk a lot."

"Maahd ad mee fur seeyng speh-shul."

"It's a free country, you can say whatever the hell you want."

"Lovi maahd ad Doni?"

"No." I decided after a bit of contemplation. After all, if I said yes, the whining would only get worse.

"Lovi?"

"If you have a question, just say it."

"Lovi maahd ad Lovi?"

"Mad at myself? What? No! Why would I be? I'm fuck'n perfect."

"Lovi maahd…cuz bep-eh and muthr but also maahd at Lovi cuz bruthr."

I sighed. "I'm always mad, you'll just have to get used to that."

"Why maahd ad Lovi? Wher iz bruthr?"

"My brother is dead, okay? Is_ that _what you wanted to know? I shot him in the head and buried him deep, deep, deep in the ground. Will you shut up about it now?"

"Lovi iz hurt…"

"I'm fine."

"No…not. Lovi iz hurt. Seed so bufor."

"I say a lot of stuff, that doesn't mean it's all true."

"Tell aboot bruthr."

"_**I killed him**_. How much more do you want!? Is it really so god damn important to you?"

"Ys! Lovi speh-shul! Iz impurtent."

"Piss off." I spat and threw the empty tin as hard as I could, missing his head by a few inches. Hell yeah, I'm angry. Fuck him. Fuck it all. People ask too many questions, that's why I live alone. Those bastards in the neighborhood did, the bastards in the base did, and even zombies do. What happened to privacy? What happened to just letting people deal with their own shit? I hate everyone, _**that's**_ why I live alone.

"Lovi nees to bee aloon." He said, his voice low, then got up and walked off into the greenery. I watched him go, hating him the whole time. When he was finally out of sight, I was the only one left to hate so I started hating myself instead. I hate how out of hand I get sometimes. I hate hating Carriedo even when he doesn't deserve it and I hate that he's so god damn understanding. It's frustrating. It's like he was put on this earth just to infuriate me. He looks at me like he _knows _me. He listens like he _understands _my problems and then he says oh-ke, accepting me as if nothing were wrong. I hate it, it's making me crazy. He makes me change my mind on things I never would have otherwise. He makes me want to tell him things. He makes me think: _Maybe this could be something special._

I won't let that happen, though. I won't let myself fall like all those idiots before me. Caring about someone is the worst mistake you can ever make.

I called for him to return once I had calmed down a substantial amount. He reappeared out of no where and took his seat beside me on the log. "Do you really want to know about my brother?" I asked and received a hesitant nod in return. Those big, green, eyes watched me closely with that sincere look that I hate so much.

"His name was Feliciano. He was a really good kid… better than any kid I've ever known. He never got very angry and even when he did, it was the kind of angry that would go away if you said you were sorry. And he really liked to listen to music and he could sing it pretty damn well too. He was really just a good kid…" I cleared my throat and used my palms to press away the wrinkles in my pants.

"I took us to America 'cause I got this bright idea that we could live there by our own terms. There were some rumors going around, people said that in the way southwest, there were no zombies. That ended up being a load of bull crap but there was a good sized town there so we settled. We were there for about six months, I think. It was a good town, he liked it. He liked just about everything, though. Anyways, Feliciano was never really afraid of the immunes. It was always something about peace, love and happiness. He said that we didn't like them just because we don't understand them. And…one day… uh, we were just hanging out and minding ourselves and this…_corpse_, he run on up to us and grab my brother, _just like that._" I demonstrated, snatching at the air. It was so quick… even now, I'm amazed by the fickleness of our existence and how easily it can be ripped away.

A hand touched mine. At first, it was just a touch but soon, the hand was wrapped all the way around mine and it was holding me comfortingly. I didn't fight it. I needed it to bad too fight it. When I glanced at the owner of the hand, his eyes melted into mine and I was warm… so I let him hold my hand. I may have even held back a little bit.

"I was scared… so I didn't do anything at first but when… when I realized what actually happened, I started just swinging away. I think I may have hit my brother a few times but I didn't really care. I just kept throwing my fists every where until the bastard let go and ran away." The hand tightened around mine. "I took him home… 'cause he'd been bitten right on the shoulder and it was a pretty nasty wound too. I tried cleaning it . I poured a whole bottle of peroxide on it but he kept getting worse. First his eyes got all glazy… then the stopped crying and screaming… and he was completely gone within the hour." I felt the heat swelling in my face and the water waiting on the brims of my eyes. "I brought him into the garden… he really loved that damn garden… and… I took care of him." I couldn't see any more. My vision had become a watery fog so I wiped it away in the most discrete way I knew how. I made sure to mention again that he was a good kid. I made sure to tell about how he liked to sing and how he was damn good at it too. I wanted the world to remember what it had lost that day.

My incessant mumbling was hushed by the humming of a familiar tune. It was a very simple song. I was strangely willing to accept the comfort. Vulnerability can do that to you. If you're pathetic enough, you'll take anything you can get because you just feel so damn lonely that it hurts. If it's bad enough, you may even let your head fall on his shoulder just 'cause it's too hard to keep it up yourself. You'll think, I've been holding it up on my own for so long, I deserve to let it down just once.

I let him hum and I listened. He let me lean on him and he carried the extra weight. It was peace in one of its oddest forms. I didn't dare question it, I felt happy. I figured, I'll let it be for now and make up a good excuse later.


End file.
